


Real Magic

by Tales



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tales/pseuds/Tales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post DH EWE Post Chosen/AtS s5 except for the fact there was one less fatality than in canon.<br/>Giles and Anya receive some surprise visitors on their eldest's eleventh birthday. One is there to represent Hogwarts, Giles' English citizenship making his daughter eligible. The other has come from Durmstrang, thanks to Anya's originally Scandinavian background. Both are surprised when they find out neither parent is a Muggle in the strictest sense, but perhaps they're even more surprised to run into each other. How will things turn out between Professors Księcia and Krum?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [t_geyer](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=t_geyer).



> Thanks to my beta, t_geyer, for her unending patience, perseverance and support and especially for indulging me in my not so brief change of fandom. Of course, since this is her birthday fic, she didn't actually beta this one (I hope.) In this case, thanks are due to Always JBJ (who also made four different versions of this banner for various different sites and pseudonyms) and Bambu345 for keeping me on the straight and narrow.

Banner kindly provided by AlwaysJBJ

 _For the wonderful, patient and long-suffering Geyer._

Saturnin Księcia set aside the book he'd been reading and stowed it reluctantly in his overnight bag. Visiting Muggle parents was one of his least favourite parts of his job as headmaster of Durmstrang, but he had no one other than himself to blame for the change in the school's intake policy, and therefore much of the burden fell to him. Those teachers who had joined the staff after him had clauses in their contracts that required them to share in the duty, but many of the teachers dated back to the days when Karkaroff had been in charge. One or two helped out, despite the fact they weren't contractually obligated, but most were either reluctant or culturally unsuited to do so. The fact that this particular candidate had been born and raised in America and only qualified for entry through her émigrée mother put the snitch even more firmly in his hands than most, as the faculty's only native English speaker. 

He decided that he had time to pen a brief note before he had to leave. The book's author had been kind enough to send him an advance copy and it seemed only polite to respond with as much of a critique as he was able. The fact that the author's work in the field of Transfiguration complemented his own work toward a Unified Theory of Magic was also rather gratifying.

He sorted through the selection of quills in the porcelain holder on his desk until he found the one he sought and positioned it over a fresh roll of parchment.

"Mon cher Jean," he dictated as he stripped away the formal layers of his wizarding garb. "I regret that my duties force me to put aside your book, much as I would love to bury myself in its pages. I have only covered the first five chapters, so far, but I already suspect that this will elevate you even further in your chosen field than your previous works."

He opened his wardrobe door and considered his meagre collection of Muggle clothing, selecting a black Armani suit, black shirt and a silver tie. He might be going to California but it was about as far north as one could be and still come under the heading of Southern California, and a cooling charm would prevent any unsightly perspiration. No gentleman would attend a formal meeting of this sort in shirt sleeves. 

"I commend you also on the quality of the translation," he continued, as he dressed. "The volume reads as if it were written in English rather than your native French. However, it is your innovative and unique perspective on the subject which draws me in and inspires me to wonder how your insight could be applied to my own research. Unfortunately, my available time is limited to the extent that I cannot begin to cite individual examples at this juncture, but rest assured that when my duties allow I will return to our usual more detailed correspondence.

"Is it rude of me to wish once again that I could coax you out of retirement to teach here? I am by nature a solitary man, but I can't help but think that our research is so complementary, one to the other, that we would both profit greatly by working in geographical proximity. Yes, I already know that your answer will be a polite refusal, but I would be failing in my duty to the school if I didn't try.

"I really must leave now, but your book is packed and if time allows on my trip, I will take every chance to continue my reading. I also look forward to your reply to my previous letter which you must surely have received by now. 

"Ton ami

"Saturnin." 

Księcia checked his appearance in the mirror, deciding that a grooming charm was needed to neatly trim his beard and leave his hair tidily coiffed. Once this had been achieved, he rolled up his letter and sealed it with the Durmstrang seal. A click of his fingers brought his personal owl to his arm. "Jean duBois," he instructed the bird, as he opened a window and launched it into the air.

He picked up his bag and went in search of his deputy to offer final instructions and advise her of his departure. He reminded himself to make sure she checked the spells on the magical device which provided them with details of prospective pupils. The date of birth he'd been given for the child's mother was patently ridiculous. 

  


* * *

  


Hermione knocked gently on the door to Minerva's private quarters. Even though they had arranged to meet at this early hour, Hermione was wary enough of her mentor's early morning irritability not to want to wake her if she wasn't already up. However, a brusque, "Come in!" sounded immediately through the door, and when she entered, Minerva was already dressed for the day.

Winky finished setting out breakfast for two, giving Hermione a polite nod and passing her a packet wrapped with brown paper, string and sealing wax. "More letters for you, Madam Krum. They is arriving overnight."

"Thank you, Winky," Hermione remarked, tucking the package into her tiny handbag. "I'll read them later."

"Well, sit down," Minerva said. "If we have to be awake at this preposterous hour, then it should be because we're doing something, not for you to hover in the doorway as if you were still a pupil rather than my Head of House."

Hermione smiled and drew out a seat at the small table. "Yes, Professor," she answered with a teasing smile as she lifted the teapot lid and peered inside the pot to determine if the contents were properly brewed. Deciding it could benefit from a few more minutes, she replaced the lid and added cream and honey to her porridge instead. Over the years she'd grown used to McGonagall's preference for oatmeal seasoned with salt, but she still couldn't bear it without some added sweetener.

"I take it you're ready to go," Minerva remarked dryly, her look taking in Hermione's skimpy tie-dye sundress, which clung to the curves of her breasts and waist before flaring out from the hips.

"It's summer, Minerva, and I hear that over there that actually means the sun might make an appearance. Besides, America's West Coast has a reputation for a more relaxed outlook on life. We don't want to scare the girl off before we even get to the part where we tell her she's a witch."

Minerva gave a slight snort. "The girl may be American, but her father is English, don't forget."

Hermione smiled. "Our records say he's been living there for twenty years or more and he owns some New Age shop. I doubt he'll turn out to be a tweed-wearing fuddy-duddy, but, if he does, that may work to our advantage." 

"In what way?" Minerva asked.

"The idea of an old-fashioned British education may appeal to him. I'm sure The Salem Institute will probably contact the family, too."

Minerva gave another snort. "Fifteen thousand pupils in one school. I heard they have up to sixty pupils in some of their classes _and_ they have the nerve to charge for it."

Hermione shrugged. "Americans tend to think you get what you pay for. Over here, even though Muggles might complain about falling standards in state-run schools, relatively few people actually send their children to fee-paying schools. Over there, a growing number of parents believe that the only way to get a quality education for their children is to pay for it. Let's face it, if you live in a country where the government doesn't even cover basic healthcare, the idea of quality Ministry-funded magical education being seen as a basic right just isn't going to occur to them."

"You may have a point there, but you still have to persuade them to send their child halfway around the world," Minerva pointed out.

"California is barely more accessible from New England than it is from Scotland," Hermione pointed out, "but if they _do_ choose Salem, at least the girl will still have a chance to reach her potential. It's the ones who insist on trying to quash their power so that they can pretend to be Muggles that I worry about." 

Minerva glanced at the clock on her mantelpiece. "Might I suggest if you want to catch the birthday girl as she's leaving school, then it's time you were on your way?"

"You might, Minerva, but I'm not taking that Portkey until I've had at least one cup of tea," Hermione replied, tipping some of the amber liquid into her cup.

  


* * *

  


Giles gave a long-suffering sigh, and pulled a brush and a long-handled dustpan from the shop's storage cupboard. "Was that _really_ necessary, darling?" he asked as he began to sweep up the glittering powder his wife had strewn over the floor and their recently departed guest. 

"It's not as if I didn't warn him," Anya protested as she grabbed her handbag from the cupboard under the till, "and it was only a teleport. It's not as if I sent him to another dimension or anything." She took the brush and shovel from his hands for a second, reaching gently up to stroke a non-existent stray hair from his forehead. She wrapped her arms around his neck before drawing him into a simmering kiss. "I'm sorry about the mess, Rupert. I'll make it up to you this evening, but if I don't leave now I'll miss kick-off."

Giles slid his hands into his wife's glossy curls, this month the colour of ripened corn, and drew her mouth back to his. "I shall hold you to that, my love," he whispered, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers, and then he closed that final gap and swept her into a dip in a display of finesse that always left his wife's heart pounding. He smiled his amusement as he set her back on her feet, watching her eyes as confusion was replaced by recollection and then by untempered lust. "Go," he instructed her. "Our daughter inherited her temper from you. You can't be late, today of all days." 

  


* * *

  


Hermione watched from a distance as the girl waved at her mother before she joined her coach and her teammates. Even from her own scant five foot four, every fresh crop of eleven-year-olds seemed incredibly tiny. This young girl, with her mother's fine bone structure, seemed like no exception, though she tackled the opposition as if she were six feet tall. Hermione had a feeling that the girl would take to flying as if she had done it all her life.

She made her way over to join the blonde on the sidelines. "Your daughter?" she asked as the dark-haired girl booted the stolen ball half the length of the pitch to land almost at the feet of her teammate.

Anya nodded as her daughter's teammate dribbled her way around the last defender and slotted the ball into the goal. "Go Laguna!" she shouted, earning a glance and a smile from her daughter as the other team's goalkeeper fished the ball out of the back of the net. "Are you a parent?" 

Hermione smiled. "Yes, but my sons go to school back in Britain. I'm just visiting Santa Barbara for a day or two. Hermione Krum."

Anya's eyes narrowed slightly, but she shook Hermione's hand. "Anya Giles."

Hermione's brows knotted together. "I thought Giles was her father's name. I was hoping you were Aud Gunthersson. You must be Audrey's stepmother?" she suggested.

Anya dragged Hermione away from the sidelines and out of hearing of any of the other nearby parents. "Where did you get that name?" she demanded. 

"Isn't it correct?" Hermione asked. "I was informed that Audrey Giles is the daughter or Rupert Giles of Bath, England, and Aud Gunthersson, née Eriksson, wife of Olaf Gunthersson, of Sjornjost."

"I haven't been Aud Gunthersson for more than a th— For a very long time. Who _are_ you, Ms Krum? Hogwarts?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to look suspicious. "How do you know about Hogwarts?"

"Well, we've already had a visitor from the Salem Institute this afternoon, and you said your sons attended school in Britain, so I took a lucky guess," Anya answered.

"And the person from The Salem Institute mentioned Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"As if!" Anya rolled her eyes. "Let's just say that I had cause to visit occasionally as part of my previous employment. Hogwarts, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Salem. I've visited them all from time to time, though at the time I was most proud of the work I did at Salem."

"So you're a witch?" Hermione asked.

The blonde looked around making sure that no-one was within hearing distance. "Anya Giles formerly Anyanka, patron saint of scorned women, and vengeance demon, and, before that, Aud of Sjornjost. Now, can we _please_ watch my daughter's soccer game? I don't really think this is an appropriate venue to discuss this any further."

Hermione finally managed to close her mouth and nod. "Just one question. What happened to the professor from Salem?"

"I sent him away," Anya answered. "He wouldn't listen when I told him I had to leave to get to my daughter's soccer game." She lifted one eyebrow, keeping it cocked until she was sure that Hermione had got the message, and moved back to her position on the touchline, where she was soon cheering on her daughter's team again.

Several long minutes passed in silence, but, finally, Anya decided that Hermione wasn't going to push. "What ages are your sons?" she asked Hermione.

"Dimitar will be eleven next month and Nikolay's nine," Hermione answered, her face softening at the thought of her children.

"So Dimitar would be in the same year as Audrey?" Anya asked.

Hermione gave a rueful sigh. "He's still making up his mind whether to go to Hogwarts or Durmstrang. His dad was Bulgarian, so he went there, and Dimi's not keen on the idea of having his mum for a teacher, or even Head of House."

"And you don't object?" Anya asked.

"I'd rather have him close, but his grandparents would be nearby and he might do better if he isn't getting picked on for being teacher's pet," Hermione admitted. "And Durmstrang doesn't have the reputation it used to have." 

"You said his father _was_ Bulgarian?" Anya looked pointedly at the rings Hermione wore on her wedding finger.

"I'm a widow. I think Dimitar remembers him, but Nikolay... Just photographs and stories." 

"That's hard for them," Anya remarked. "And you." 

Hermione shrugged. "We get by. They have about half a dozen honorary uncles, and all the other teachers and the house-elves spoil them."

"And you haven't thought of remarrying?" Anya asked.

"Viktor was a hard act to follow," Hermione said with a rueful smile. "Maybe one day I'll meet someone, but so far no one's measured up."

"Oh!" Anya said in a knowing tone. "I used to date someone like that," she said, holding up both her hands with her index fingers extended a good few inches apart, "but _then_ I realised that other things were important, too, and if he was too blind to see that I was good enough for him when he had two eyes, then he didn't deserve me when he only had one."

Hermione flushed red to the tips of her ears in a way that was distinctly reminiscent of Ron Weasley. "That wasn't what I meant," she insisted. Then, she cleared her throat and made a new approach. "Does this have anything to do with how you feel about your daughter going to Hogwarts?" 

"Directly, no," Anya said, "but it helps establish trust and rapport, and you will need my trust and rapport if you want me to help you convince my husband to ship our eleven-year-old daughter off to boarding school in Scotland." 

"It would make my life easier, I admit. The chances of Audrey being happy are a lot higher if you and Mr Giles give her your support," Hermione pointed out, "but in the end, you're in the same position I am. I can try to give you and your husband the information you need to help your daughter make an educated decision. That's about as much as any of us can do. The final decision is your daughter's and hers alone. If _she_ chooses to join the wizarding world, she _will_ attend the school of her choice." 

"And if she chooses not to join your world?" Anya asked.

Hermione's brows drew together. "Then she's free to say no. Personally, it's not an option I would recommend. I'm sure you've noticed that when your daughter gets upset or angry her magic will tend to manifest itself in unpredictable ways. As she gets older, her powers will grow stronger. Without the training that would allow her to channel those powers effectively, either the magnitude of these incidents will also grow, or your daughter will endeavour to quash her powers and that could lead to a dangerous backlash when she loses control. She'll spend her life trying to be normal, instead of learning to be herself. It isn't a recipe for a well-adjusted and happy person." 

Anya snorted. "I've seen what happens when a teenaged witch doesn't have anyone to slap her down when she goes on a power trip. I think it's safe to say that we don't want Audrey to go resurrecting anyone."

"That's an urban myth," Hermione interjected quickly. "Magic can't actually raise someone from the dead, not really."

This time Anya laughed out loud. "I wouldn't repeat that in front of Rupert or he'll decide you're too stupid to teach anyone, let alone his daughter. He gets very snotty about teaching standards."

"I can assure you—"

"Assure all you want," Anya scoffed. "Buffy's still walking around." 

"What's a Buffy?" 

  


* * *

  


Giles finished wrapping the amber pendant for the young college student he was serving, rang up the sale, gave the girl her change and saw her to the door with an assurance that if the gift wasn't to her friend's taste, then he would be glad to offer an exchange.

Then, he turned his attention to the man who for the last ten minutes had been single-handedly dismantling his book display, piling expensive volumes on the floor. 

"Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?" he asked pointedly.

"I was merely browsing," the dark-haired man replied. "Would it be possible to have you put these items to one side for me until tomorrow? I'm afraid I wasn't expecting to need much in the way of local currency."

Suddenly the untidy mess on the floor looked very different in Giles' eyes. "Certainly. Let me bag these up for you. By the way, we keep our rarer and more potent volumes on the mezzanine floor, if you would like to look there, too." He indicated a roped off stairway, leading to a loft area up above. "You're English?" 

"By birth and upbringing, if only partially by genetics," Księcia answered, "but I've been living in Eastern Europe for so long now, that I'm not sure the British would let me back in."

Giles' brows furrowed as he fetched several large expensive-looking carrier bags emblazoned with the store's logo. "And what brings you to Santa Barbara?" he asked.

Księcia turned to look the man in the eyes and lifted a quizzical brow. "Your daughter. I've come to offer her a place at the school where I am headmaster. I believe she has a special gift." 

Giles gave a long-suffering sigh. "Not another one!"

"Another what?" Saturnin asked cautiously.

"We've already had some awful American trying to get us to send her to New England."

"I take it you failed to reach an agreement?"

"Actually, my wife sent him off to heaven knows where with a flea in his ear," Giles admitted. "She doesn't appreciate hard sell, unless she's the one selling." He held up his hand when the other man looked as if he might speak. "Whatever you have to say, you might as well wait until Anya and the kids get back. There's no point having to repeat yourself. In the meantime, perhaps, once we put these books to one side, you'd care to join me in a pot of Assam, Mister..." 

"Księcia," the darker man extended his hand and gave a slight bow. "Doctor Saturnin Księcia. And I'd be honoured." 

  


* * *

  


The sound of the men's quiet laughter was all but drowned out by the jingling of the wind chime positioned behind the store's front door.

"Rupert?" Anya called out.

"Up here, darling!" her husband replied, coming over to the rail that bounded the loft area.

There was a crash of shattering china as his companion let fall his drink, and drew his wand. He pointed it at the bushy-haired woman, who accompanied the blonde and her two children.

Hermione's reactions were almost as quick, pointing the vinewood and phoenix feather wand she had purchased after the war at the neatly tailored and bearded man.

"You!" they spat out in unison.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Saturnin have come face to face. Will it end in tears or can the two of them come to some sort of understanding?

Banner kindly provided by AlwaysJBJ

 _For the wonderful, patient and long-suffering Geyer._

"Professor Krum, might I suggest that you either use that wand or lower it?" Severus drawled. "Bearing in mind Defence was always your weakest subject, I would recommend the latter."

"Just as soon as you lower yours," Hermione insisted.

Anya stepped in front of her gaping children, attempting to shield them with her body. However, the children had other ideas and leaned around her to get a better view. 

"If my intent in drawing my wand was to harm you rather than to have the ability to protect myself, I would have incapacitated you before your wand cleared its holster."

Hermione's eyes were already fixed on the darkly glittering ones of her former teacher, hoping there would be an infinitesimal tell that would give her a fraction of a second's extra warning before the attack. Now, she concentrated on trying to determine his sincerity, her wand lowering as if of its own accord. "Why are you here?" she finally asked when she realised that Snape's wand had disappeared just as fast as it had been drawn.

"For precisely the same reason you are, I should imagine," the stylishly tailored headmaster replied, as both Audrey and her younger brother stepped away from their mother, their heads turning from one teacher to the other as if they were watching a tennis match. 

"You're teaching again?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

"Only when absolutely necessary," Severus answered. He gave a long-suffering sigh, knowing that nothing less than full disclosure would stop Hermione's questions. "I am the headmaster of Durmstrang Academy."

Hermione scowled as Severus descended the stairs from the upper level, and raised her wand in his direction again. "I don't think so, Professor. Saturnin Księcia is headmaster of Durmstrang. He's a brilliant and very prominent magical theorist, as well as having revolutionised teaching in Eastern Europe. I can assure you that if he had resigned his position, I would be well aware of it." 

With a smirk, Severus fixed Hermione in his gaze. As he closed the distance between them, he lifted an eyebrow. "I thank you for the compliment, _Professor."_

"You _can't_ be Księcia!" Hermione protested.

"Not everyone was so lauded as yourself at the war's end. I found it convenient to adopt a pseudonym. As you say, I am now well-regarded in academic circles, but how many journals do you think would have published articles by Severus Snape?"

"You were cleared of all charges!" Hermione protested. "And they gave you an Order of Merlin."

"Charges?" Giles cut in, getting over the surprise which had previously kept him from intervening. "What sort of charges?"

"Posthumously, Professor Krum," Severus added. "I'm sure that had you and your little friends not been so kind as to vouch for my death, then public opinion would have been far less generous."

"I asked what sort of charges!" Giles reminded the two educators.

"Professor Snape was a double agent during the last wizarding war," Hermione answered calmly. "He had to maintain his cover as a member of a violent and elitist secret order within wizarding society over a period spanning two decades. During that time, he may have been forced to perform various acts to avoid exposing his true allegiance, but he is a hero, not a criminal. Imagine if Hitler's most trusted intelligence officer had been spying for the Allies, and you'll begin to get an idea."

"Professor Krum is trying to avoid saying that I was charged with murder, amongst other things," Severus cut in. "However, as I said before, I was cleared due to the jury being in a good mood because they thought I was dead and the war was over. If, for one second, they had believed that I might actually have been able to sully them with my presence they would have reversed the ruling in an instant. Fortunately for me, I had the means and the contacts necessary to change my identity and relocate to Eastern Europe. Once I gained my doctorate and published a few articles, the offers of employment began to roll in. Now, can we get on with why we're here, or is Eamonn Andrews going to jump out with a big red book?" 

"Robert," Giles nodded at his son. "Might I suggest you go into the office and work on your homework?"

"But, Dad—"

"Robert, go." This time Giles' soft tone brooked no argument. He waited until the door had closed behind his son to fix his full attention on the dark-haired man. "Am I to believe that, not only do you expect us to send our only daughter half way around the world, but you wish us to entrust her to the care of a murderer masquerading under an assumed name? Need I even tell you that the answer is no?"

"You can't!" Hermione burst out. "Hear us both out, find out about the schools, but don't make a snap judgement because of anything I said. He's no more a murderer than I am."

"Or you, Rupert," Anya added softly, "or I."

"Anya, dear," Giles protested. "This is preposterous."

"Rupert, darling, we both know she has power and so does Robert. Do you want her to become another Willow? Or another Anyanka? Or maybe Robert could start calling himself Ripper? They need to be guided by someone who knows what they're going through."

"We're not living on a Hellmouth any more. Willow would never have—"

"Willow would have gone power crazy no matter where she lived. You were in London. I was in a village in the middle of nowhere," Anya argued, as Severus looked on at the by-play with narrowed eyes.

"I was rebelling against exactly the sort of upbringing you're suggesting," Giles pointed out.

Audrey rolled her eyes. "Dad, your dad shipped you off to Watcher Academy when you were seven and everything you did from then on was designed to turn you into a good Council drone. It wasn't a school; it was a brain-washing facility. From what Professor Krum has said, Hogwarts is a lot less uptight. This would be my choice, and I'd be with other kids like me. I'm fed up with feeling like I have to hide who I am all the time." 

Severus's eyebrow arched upward, and he reappraised the man to whom he'd been speaking until Miss Granger so inconveniently interrupted.

"And if we'd wanted to send you off to boarding school, we'd have sent _you_ off to Watcher Academy when you were seven, too," Giles argued. "And we wouldn't have had to pay for it either." 

"And if you had, she would have had the same incomplete education you, and I presume your wife, were given," Severus interjected. "I should also point out that although you would be required to pay for books, uniforms and other essentials, neither Durmstrang nor Hogwarts charge for board or tuition." 

"Do I _look_ like a Watcher?" Anya demanded.

"No, but I know you were never invited to attend any of the wizarding schools even though you have power."

"That's because she was outside the catchment area for Hogwarts and Durmstrang didn't exist," Hermione pointed out.

"What?" Severus demanded. "You mean she really _was_ born in the eleventh century?" 

"Long story," Hermione said. 

"Yes," Giles snapped, "and I'll have you know that my education was very far from incomplete. I doubt that you attended Oxford." Giles conveniently neglected to mention that after he dropped out and ran wild, the prestigious college had refused to take him back and he had completed his degree at a far less salubrious educational establishment. 

"No, unlike Professor Krum, here, I never remotely aspired to being a librarian." Severus cleared his throat, as if to warn the others that he would brook no further interruptions. "The Watcher Academy is warded to prevent detection by the wizarding world. If your daughter had been sent there, we would have been unable to contact her when she came of age. She would never use a wand, never learn to use the power that's within her. She could learn to use petitioning magic, as you have, with its rituals, sigils, risks and limitations, but the magic that is her birthright would be denied to her, as your father's choices denied it to you." 

"Enough!" Giles protested. "We don't have time for this. Not tonight."

"No," Anya agreed. "We have a party to prepare for and, if we don't leave soon, Rupert and I won't have time for shower sex while we get ready."

"Quite," Giles agreed as he removed his glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief. "Suffice it to say that if you wish to discuss the matter further, then it will have to be at a later date."

"Why don't you both come to the party?" Anya asked, receiving glowers from both her husband and Severus in response. "Oh, Rupert, stop being a stick in the mud. You know you'll be glad to have a few extra adults around once you get there. If we get the chance to discuss schools, it's a bonus. Besides, it's the least we can do if you're going to make them stay."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked. "We wouldn't want to put you to any trouble." 

With her obvious enthusiasm, Severus realised he was doomed. He simply couldn't allow her to have an entire evening uninterrupted in which to influence the family.

"There's a taxi rank one block up on the left," Anya pointed out. "The drivers will probably have an idea which hotels have vacancies. The party's at a club a couple of our friends own. It's called 'The Bronze'. We'll be there from about seven, getting things set up, and the kids are due to start arriving at around eight." She flipped the sign on the shop door so that it showed they were now closed and held it open. When neither of her guests immediately moved, she added with slightly more insistence. "I need to cash up now."

Audrey raised an eyebrow and gave the two teachers a wry smile. "I'd advise you to leave now. Bad enough Mom tells the world about their sex life. You don't want to stick around for 'the dance of capitalist superiority'. Dad's the only person in the world who thinks it's cute. Everybody else just thinks it's insane."

"Indeed," Severus agreed, taking Hermione by the elbow and steering her out onto the town's main street. 

  


* * *

  


As soon as the shop door had closed behind them, Hermione stopped dead and wrenched her arm from Severus's grip. "I think you forget that I am no longer a pupil who you can order around."

"As I recall, you never paid much attention to the rules in any case," Severus drawled, not modifying his stride so that Hermione was obliged to change to a teetering high-heeled half-jog to catch back up. "I should have known as soon as you showed your face that you would sabotage my efforts."

"I did _not_ sabotage your efforts. Not deliberately." 

Severus arched an ebony brow. "If that level of destruction is accidental, I would hate to see the devastation which occurs when you try."

"It just slipped out," Hermione protested. "And if you must know, I already told Mrs Giles that there was every chance my own son might be going to Durmstrang in September. I'd hardly say that if I was trying to put her off."

"Of course you wouldn't," he answered in a tone that dripped sarcasm. "However, since this all predated your discovery that the esteemed Saturnin Księcia is really the despised Severus Snape, I'm sure our friends will make allowances."

"I've _never_ despised you." 

"I find that difficult to believe."

"There may have been a time I didn't particularly like the persona you presented to the world," Hermione admitted, "but I never had anything other than the greatest respect for the man you really are."

"You have no idea who I am, Miss Granger," Severus announced as he took the first space in the taxi queue. 

"It hasn't been Miss Granger for a very long time. If you can't manage Professor Krum, then Hermione will suffice, and I suspect I know you better than you imagine." Hermione couldn't help noticing that the longer they argued the more she was starting to sound like her adversary. 

"I've seen my so-called biography in the latest version of _Hogwarts: A History._ Accuracy is not its strong point."

"Fine." Hermione took her handbag off her shoulder and felt around in it until she found the packet of letters Winky had given her that morning. She pulled the string off one end, and tore the brown paper so that the stack of mail sat in it like sticks of chewing gum in an open packet. Unerringly, she flipped through them until she spotted one on luxurious creamy parchment and pulled it out, returning the packet to her bag. She had barely broken the seal when Severus snatched it from her hand.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded in a silkily menacing whisper.

"As you saw, it came with the rest of my mail." She held out her hand. "I believe that is mine."

"On the contrary," Severus disagreed, tucking the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket. "It is addressed to Jean duBois."

"And if I published under Hermione Granger Krum, how much attention do you think people would pay to what was in the articles, and how much would be devoted to rehashing my school years and my marriage?" Hermione asked, though the question was patently rhetorical. "I wanted my work to stand or fall on its own merits. Fleur Weasley's sister, Gabrielle, works for Charlemagne Publishing. She tidies up my French articles and forwards my letters once a week. Now, if you would give me what is rightfully mine?" 

"You obtained it under false pretences," Severus hissed. "I would never have maintained the correspondence if I had known that _you_ were Jean duBois."

Hermione snorted. "Obviously," she agreed. "You would never want a former Gryffindor to know what an intelligent, erudite, amusing and basically pleasant person you _can_ be, when you're not trying to be patronising." 

Severus's eyes narrowed as if she had issued a challenge to a duel, but at that moment a taxi slewed into the bay in front of them. Hermione had the back door halfway open before he took her wrist and pulled it away from the door. "I believe that I was first in the queue, Madam Krum."

"And _I_ believe there's no logical reason at all why we can't share," Hermione argued as Severus slid into the seat with the same grace he did everything else.

"True," Severus answered, his gaze raking her from head to toe in a dismissive fashion, "but then I wouldn't want you to think I was a pleasant person." The door closed with a heavy thunk, leaving Hermione alone on the pavement as the taxi drove off and turned onto the main street. 

  


* * *

  


"Don't you dare," Anya warned as her husband flopped onto their bed, his body still damp from their shared shower.

"Or what?" Giles asked, tugging on their joined hands to pull his wife down on top of him.

"Or we'll be late," Anya argued, though her voice had softened noticeably.

Giles rolled them both over so that they lay side by side facing each other. "Five minutes won't hurt," he gently insisted.

Anya rolled her eyes and tried to tuck her towel more securely around herself. "I know you and your five minutes. Next thing, we'll be needing another shower." 

Giles craned his neck to nibble gently at her lower lip, eliciting a soft moan. "Just five minutes," he promised. "For us... before we have to get ready for the mad house."

"It won't be that bad," Anya said, in an obvious attempt to pacify her husband.

"Have you forgotten her last sleepover?" Giles remarked dryly. "And that was only six girls. This time there are forty of them, including boys, _and_ another dozen of Robert's friends, _and_ you know what our luck is like with birthdays."

"Well, this time it's not our job to clear up the mess, and there's only been one not-so-good birthday since we left Sunnydale," Anya argued.

"Don't remind me," Giles sighed. "Only Buffy could decide that I would want to spend my fiftieth birthday in the company of Angel, though I'm not sure that you inviting those two so-called teachers was an improvement."

"Don't be silly, dear," Anya chided. "You were obviously having a wonderful chat with that sarcastic Englishman before we came back."

Giles rolled his eyes. "That was when I thought he was going to spend a couple of thousand dollars on rare books. Now I've heard such a delightful character reference, I'm not even sure I want to let him have them. I might as well box them up and ship them off to Ethan Rayne, wherever he is."

"Now you _are_ being silly!"

"Are you telling me you think that Doctor Księcia, and what sort of name is that anyway? ...not that it _is_ his name, according to that woman, is less dangerous than Ethan?" Giles asked.

"It's Polish for Prince," Anya stated matter-of-factly. "And, no, I'm not saying he isn't dangerous. You just need to look at him to know that. I'm saying Ethan would never pay for the books. And dangerous is all relative. You can be pretty dangerous when you want to be. If we're sending Audrey halfway around the world, then I _want_ someone dangerous looking after her; someone who can deal with any threats that might come up. Think about it. There's a reason you put Faith in charge of training the slayers back in the day, and it wasn't for her morals."

"That was different," Giles insisted.

"Not so much. Now get up and get dressed, or Audrey and Robert will be hammering on the door."

"I still don't think you should have asked those people," Giles repeated as he pushed himself up off the bed and dropped the towel from around his waist.

Anya gave a knowing smile as she rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around Giles' waist from behind, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. "Admit it. Half the reason you're so annoyed is that he doesn't think what you do is _real_ magic."

Giles slipped free of her arms and pulled open his underwear drawer. "As if waving a stick makes them better than us," he muttered under his breath as he took out a pair of boxers and slipped them on." 

  


* * *

  


"You are the most stubborn, arrogant man I've ever met," Hermione accused as she drew out the seat opposite Snape's in the hotel's bistro.

  


"I'll have whatever he's having," she told the waiter, waving him and his menu away, "and a double gin and tonic, tall glass, two ice cubes, with a slice of lime if possible." 

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Professor."

"Merlin's balls!" Hermione spat in frustration. "Is there something wrong with my name? You've been calling me your dear Jean for the last five years," she said, pronouncing the name in the English way. "Is Hermione so much more difficult?"

"I've been calling a ninety-year-old grandfather mon cher Jean," Severus replied, emphasising the French pronunciation, "but Jean does not exist."

"You don't write to Jean duBois because he's a grandfather, and apart from the fact that the boys are mine and their names are different, I haven't exactly lied there either. You write to Jean duBois because you're interested in his research and because he understands yours."

"Jean duBois is not my former pupil," Severus pointed out in an icy tone. "I would hardly have made the sort of personal disclosures which I have made, had I known your true identity."

"Personal disclosures?" Hermione asked aghast. "Wouldn't that mean you _had_ a personal life? I know nothing of a more personal nature than that you like merlot." 

"You know where I spend my time away from Durmstrang. You know my hopes and my aspirations. What could possibly be more personal?"

"Your _professional_ aspirations," Hermione sighed.

"I have no others."

The conversation paused as the waiter arrived with Hermione's drink.

She took a delicate sip and looked up at Severus through her lashes. "If that is true, then you can ill afford to lose a friend."

Neither spoke further, not even after their salmon sautéed with lemon zest, white wine and dill capers on a bed of basmati rice and served with grilled asparagus arrived. Nevertheless, when Hermione returned to her room to change, she discovered that Saturnin's letter was back in her bag. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione tracks Saturnin to his hotel room and the festivities begin.

Banner kindly provided by AlwaysJBJ

 _For the wonderful, patient and long-suffering Geyer._

Severus reclined on his room's king sized bed. Though he held Jean duBois' book in his hands and though he looked in the direction of the room's patio doors and the ocean view that they afforded, neither book nor view could hold his attention. Discovering the identity of the book's author had robbed him of his ability to concentrate. Even a cold shower hadn't helped to clear his thoughts.

He was startled when the phone in the room began to ring, and it took him several seconds to pick it up correctly and respond to the voice on the end of the line. He was just old enough that, even in semi-Muggle homes like the one where he had spent his early years, telephones had been regarded as a luxury, rather than an intrinsic part of everyday existence. He had used them, on the occasions when it had been necessary to summon a Muggle doctor to the house, or when his father had been too ill to go to work and his mother had sent him to the telephone box on the main road quarter of a mile away to call his employer. He'd never really got used to the idea of _receiving_ phone calls, though. 

"Hello?" he asked cautiously.

"Good evening, sir. This is reception," the polite and cheerful voice said. "One of our other residents, Hermione Krum, would like to speak to you. Shall I put her through?"

Severus sighed. "If you must," he replied.

"If you prefer, I could tell her that you're not answering."

"No," Severus answered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That would only delay the inevitable. Put her through."

"Severus?" 

Severus stiffened at the uninvited familiarity, but caught himself as he opened his mouth to make a biting retort. After all, it had been his choice to return his letter to her, thereby prolonging their acquaintance. That did not mean that he was comfortable with her familiarity. 

"I've booked a taxi to go to the club later. I thought you might want to share, this time." 

Severus swallowed. "That would be acceptable. When and where should we meet?"

"I was hoping that you might join me for drinks in my room?" The invitation came out in a rush of words and the woman hurried on before he could get a word in. "I thought you could tell me a little about Watchers and I might be able to give you some background on Mrs Giles, so that we're both better prepared." 

"Now?" Severus asked imperiously. "I'm afraid that's impossible. I've just got out the shower."

"Then I'll have the drinks sent to your room instead," the impertinent woman replied. "You've got five minutes to make yourself decent. Oh, and if you've brought such a thing as a pair of jeans, then it might be an idea to wear those. You're the only person I've seen in this whole town with a suit and tie, and this _is_ a party."

"I haven't told you my room number," Severus protested. "And I came here as a representative of Durmstrang, not as a refugee from some fashion parade. You may have brought a trunk full of outfits. Some of us are not so vain that we need to change our clothing every five minutes." 

The chuckle that carried down the phone line caused butterflies in Severus's stomach. "I'll bring you a pair of jeans, then," the impertinent witch announced. "You look about the same size as Viktor. Your shirt will do, if you get rid of the tie. See you soon," she added, and before Severus could gainsay her suggestion, the line went dead.

"Infernal Gryffindors!" he cursed, getting up and adjusting the towel he had wrapped around his waist after his shower. He lifted his wand from the bedside cabinet and fetched one of the spare towels from the bathroom. He had just finished transfiguring the towel into a robe when there was a knock at the door.

"Room service," the polite, cheerful and, thankfully, male voice announced.

"A moment." Severus rummaged in the pocket of his suit jacket on its hanger in the wardrobe, and removed the wallet which held his supply of American dollars. He checked the numbers on the corners of the bills, looking for a ten and failed to find one. Leaving the robe spread out on his bed, he opened the door. "I'm afraid that I'm almost out of smaller notes," he explained. "Would you have change of a fifty? Otherwise, I've only got one five."

The waiter's smile wavered. "I'll need to check, sir."

Severus tried to convince himself that he was relatively safe. This was a long corridor, and he could dart back in and put on the robe should he spot the interfering little witch approaching. It wasn't like you could miss her with that mess she called hair taking up half the corridor. Nevertheless, his bare foot unconsciously tapped out an impatient tattoo as the waiter rummaged through each and every one of his pockets, pulling out a selection of rumpled notes and flattening them out. By the time he reached a total of thirty-seven dollars and appeared to be about to start adding loose change, Severus snatched the unkempt bundle of notes from his hand, gave him the fifty and yanked the trolley into the room.

He had one arm in the sleeve of the robe when the door was opened without so much as a knock and Granger was standing there shaking her head at him. She tossed a pair of black denims onto the bed, lifted the wine cooler in one hand and the pair of crystal glasses in the other and then nudged the trolley back toward the door with one foot until the young man was able to reach the handle and pull it back into the corridor.

"I'm sorry about that," she said as she set the glasses down on the nearest horizontal surface, which happened to be Jean duBois' book, which now rested on Severus's bedside cabinet. She drew a folded note from the pocket of her too-tight jeans and pushed it into the youth's hand without even checking its denomination. 

As she pushed the door closed, Severus grabbed the jeans off the bed. "Don't you even knock?" he demanded sarcastically, as he strode toward the bathroom.

"Not often," Hermione replied. "You can't be shy, Severus. Surely? Or maybe you think after years of sharing a bathroom with the Weasleys, a year in a tent with Harry and Ron, seven years of marriage to Viktor and living with two young boys, I'm going to be overcome at the sight of a man in a towel?"

"I like my privacy," Severus answered as he used his heel to kick the door closed behind him. "And, _if_ you insist on using my Christian name, could you at least call me Saturnin?" 

"A Prince by any other name..." Hermione replied, noting with some satisfaction that Severus's bookmark was already a third of the way through her book. She lifted the wine glasses and carried them and the bucket out onto the balcony. A flick of her wand was as efficient as any corkscrew. She rested her fingers against the side of the bottle, testing its coolness before she poured a glass for each of them.

Severus pulled on his shirt as he made his way back through the bedroom, doing up the buttons as he took a seat at the patio table. "Happy now?" he asked.

Hermione gave a mischievous grin as her eyes raked her former professor from head to bare toes. "Moderately. It appears I was right about you and Viktor having the same build." 

"Still not ready to relinquish the title of know-it-all?" Severus asked, though his tone lacked bite. He returned her frank appraisal. 

She wore her hair up, an intricate braid running around each side of her head from an off-centre parting before they were coiled and pinned at the back of her head. Her eye shadow, if she wore any, was negligible though her lashes were longer and darker than he ever remembered them being, drawing attention to the eyes which sparkled with intelligence. Her lips were painted in a cupid's bow of dark glossy crimson. 

A beaded silk camisole of silvery grey skimmed the curves of her upper torso while leaving her neck and shoulders bare, providing a tantalising glimpse of her back when she stretched to return the wine bottle to the ice bucket. Blue denim, faded almost as pale as her top, encased her lower body like a second skin, and the slender straps of her silver sandals snaked around her feet and ankles like delicate exotic vines.

Severus carefully crossed the ankle of his right leg over his left thigh and tugged his shirt tail down. He lifted the slender wine flute to his nose, savouring the liquid's bouquet before he took a delicate sip, letting it flow over his whole palate before he swallowed. 

"I know you generally prefer red," those Jezebel lips explained, "but I thought in these temperatures a nicely chilled white might be preferable." 

"It is palatable," he conceded. "The mother?" he asked, deciding it was time to remind the perplexing chit of her purported purpose.

"I'm not so much of a brash Gryffindor as to give you all my information before you disclose at least some of yours. No doubt I would discover that time ran short just as you were about to reciprocate."

Severus smirked. "It is not my habit to leave those I choose as companions unsatisfied. Desirous of more, perhaps, but never less than sated." And that, he decided, would surely send the so-called lioness scurrying away like the pampered kitten she truly was.

"But you didn't choose me," Hermione replied, casting him a look from beneath her lashes as she took a sip of her wine. "I foisted my company onto you." Severus couldn't help but notice that her cheeks were delightfully flushed. 

"How astute of you to notice," Severus drawled, hiding his disconcertion at the fact she appeared to be flirting back instead of running for metaphorical cover.

"So? Watchers?"

Severus cocked an amused eyebrow.

"Sev— Saturnin, I'm sure we can both agree that convincing Audrey to attend a wizarding school is more important than which of our schools she ultimately chooses. We don't need to be rivals." 

"And what better way to demonstrate your point than to confide exactly how a woman twice the age of Nicholas Flamel manages to look about thirty."

"You are impossible!" 

"Surely you did not think that just because the war has ended, I would roll over and let you tickle my stomach like that disreputable ginger fur-ball that used to follow you around?"

Hermione's sophisticated façade was shattered as she sprayed wine halfway across the table. Her laughter was consumed by a fit of coughing until her whole face went red. It was definitely the laughter that made her choke, she reassured herself, nothing to do with imagining this new, more relaxed, shower-fresh and neatly bearded Snape writhing ticklishly beneath her caresses, or the thrill of anticipation she experienced as she pictured the scene. 

Severus produced a wand from who knew where and silenced his companion's distress with a non-verbal _'Anapneo'_ before he banished the spill.

"I do hope you meant Crookshanks," she finally managed with a weak smile.

"Actually, I did," Severus answered, "though I take it from your reaction that rumours of an orangutan featuring somewhere in Weasley's lineage are not entirely unfounded."

 _"You_ are a wicked man," she accused teasingly. 

"I have never denied it," Snape replied, but Hermione felt as if he drew away from her with those few words.

"You should," she said in a solemn whisper. Daringly, she reached out to where his free hand rested on the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze, withdrawing quickly to her previous position. "You may talk a wicked game, but your actions and your choices are those of a fine man. Now, what would you like to know?" 

His eyes, when they met hers, glittered with some unidentifiable emotion. "If alcohol has such a disastrous effect on your memory, perhaps you should have ordered pumpkin juice," he suggested slyly.

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, though her smile refused to leave. "Just for that, you can tell me about Watchers."

And Severus found that he was no longer averse to letting her have her way. 

  


* * *

  


"But doesn't that constitute a breach of Pisarro's Third Law of Elemental Magic?" Hermione asked, as Severus - or Saturnin as Hermione reminded herself to call him - held open the taxi's door for her to get out.

"Not when we modify the equation to account for ambient magical energy," Saturnin clarified, his voice dropping to a silky whisper as they neared the bouncer who guarded the club's doors.

The towering, brawny young man held up a hand to indicate the pair should come no further. "We're not opening to the public until eleven tonight. You can try the Sandbar." He gestured somewhere off to the right.

"We're here for the private party. Mrs Giles invited us," Saturnin countered. "She said they would be here by now."

"Do you have your invitations?" the doorman asked.

"We just ran into her this afternoon and she told us to come," Hermione added.

The doorman opened the door behind him a few inches and shouted through the gap. "Boss, there are a couple of oldies here. They say Anya invited them but they haven't got any invitations."

To Hermione and Saturnin's surprise the shouted reply was made in a North London accent. "And you think they've got nothing better to do than be tortured by boy-bands at an eleven-year-old's birthday party? Let 'em in, you pillock!"

The doorman let them through to the foyer, where they were greeted by a young man with short-cropped hair, bleached to nearly white. His black shirt and jeans matched Saturnin's, though Hermione hadn't thought to provide a pair of Doc Marten's to go with his. His eyes were the most intense shade of blue that Hermione had ever seen, his cheekbones and full lips were those of an angel, but when he grinned, there was no trace of innocence. The man extended a hand to Hermione. "Spike," he introduced himself.

Hermione took the proffered hand, amused as the subtle pressure of Saturnin's guiding hand at the small of her back deepened and Saturnin moved forward with her, making his greater height more obvious. "I'm Hermione, and _this_ is Saturnin. Are there going to be any other vampires here tonight?"

The sapphire eyes gleamed with amusement. "Very quick, Hermione."

"She always has been," Saturnin purred, "if occasionally naïve."

The two men met eyes and seemed to be frozen in place for seconds before the vampire gave a nod, and lifted a scarred eyebrow in a gesture so like Saturnin's own that Hermione almost laughed out loud. 

"To answer your question, there's another vamp working bar and the missus asked grandpa 'cause he was comin' up from LA-LA Land anyway. Wouldn't worry, though. We all shop at the butcher's. You're not in any danger unless Angel tries to bore you to death. Now, let's get you a drink on the Watcher's dime." 

The vampire held open the door into the brightly lit main club, allowing the two teachers to enter ahead of him.

Saturnin's fingertips burned through the silk of Hermione's top like five tiny discrete brands. Precious moments passed as she allowed herself to imagine that he was as aware of the touch as she. With him just behind her, she could fantasize that it was his way of staking a claim before the white-haired predator... even though she knew deep down that it was no more than the same protective instinct that had made him shield her when she was a fourteen-year-old pupil faced with a moonstruck werewolf. 

The blond gestured to the bar which took up most of the right hand wall. "Elise will take your orders." Then he pointed to the back of the room where several tables lined that side of the room. "Anya's sorting out the buffet, Rupert will have found a dark corner somewhere so he can watch the little 'un and glare at every boy she dances with." His voice took on a sudden urgency, and he began to stride toward the DJ booth which occupied the bottom left corner of the room. "And I'm going to sort out the lighting and rescue my decks before that wanker starts playing _'Mandy'_. 'Scuse me!" 

"After you." The pressure at Hermione's back pointed her toward the bar, but she turned to face her former teacher instead.

"I think I should see if Mrs Giles needs any help," she suggested.

Music that was most definitely not _'Mandy'_ and almost certainly not appropriate for children began to blare from the club's speaker system and the light level fell dramatically from near daylight level to no more than a few strip lights set into both floor and ceiling and a small spotlight over the DJ booth.

She tried to read the dark eyes that locked on her own, but even if she had adjusted instantly to the gloom she suspected it would have been impossible. Her feet shifted nervously as she waited for his reaction. A hug was too much to expect, a handshake was surely too formal after their conversation but...

Finally, Saturnin gave the briefest of nods and turned away, leaving her with a palpable feeling of anticlimax.

  


* * *

  


"Can I help?" Hermione shouted to make herself heard over the raucous tones of 'The Dead Kennedys'.

Anya paused in her task of unwrapping the covering from dozens of trays of delicacies. "You can fill up the punch bowl and find somewhere to plug it in," she suggested with a nod to where several dozen bottles of sparkling grape juice had been stacked at the end of the table next to a three tier punch bowl.

Hermione obligingly lifted the edge of the tablecloth and ended up crawling under the table until she found the nearest electrical outlet and made sure the cable from the punch bowl would reach.

"Mom!" Running feet interrupted as Hermione backed out from under the table. "You have to get Dad to calm down. Aunt Buffy did it again." 

Anya looked at her daughter and then at all the food that was still to be set out.

"Go," Hermione suggested. 

"We'll get the food," Audrey cut in, "but Dad'll either break something or get hammered if you don't distract him."

Anya rolled her eyes as she strode off. "I suppose it was too much to expect Buffy to work out that her friends aren't our friends."

"What's the story?" Hermione asked. 

Audrey gave a sly smile. "I'll tell you about Angel, if you tell me what the deal is with you and tall, dark and," she tilted her head from side to side, "dangerous."

Hermione picked up her handbag from where she'd set it on the floor. She rummaged in it until she pulled out a large leather-bound book several times larger than the bag itself, _'Hogwarts: An Updated History'_. "Chapters twenty-seven through thirty. Happy Birthday." 

Audrey grinned. "So you and him, you're both in this book? So you're both sort of famous?"

Hermione gave a rueful smile. "I was just the trusty sidekick. Saturnin was a real hero. It's all in there, but don't let anyone other than your parents or other wizards and witches see it. Anyway, the book will give you some background to the school and the wizarding world. If you have any more questions after that you can always write."

"Mom says that you have a son my age..." the girl began hesitantly.

"I do. His name's Dimitar."

"Do you think...?" Audrey began but then faltered. "What I mean is, talking to grown-ups is one thing—"

"But it would be nice to talk to someone your own age who's grown up in the wizarding world?" Hermione finished for her. "I'll ask him." 

Audrey, book still clasped in her hand, threw her arms around Hermione. "Thanks!" She stepped back and pointed to a petite bleach-blonde about the same age as her mother, who was currently restocking the cooler behind the bar, hefting a crate of beer with apparent ease. "Aunt Buffy and Uncle Spike own the club. Aunt Buffy—"

"Vamp?" Hermione interjected.

Audrey snorted. "Slayer. Dad's slayer, back in the day. Anyway, Aunt Buffy invited Angel, which is awkward enough anyway because he's her ex. They had this big melodramatic first love thing, and Spike's never overly happy to have him around, even though they're family so sometimes it can't be helped. The two of them just about manage to just about play nice. And Angel's mostly okay, a bit up his own arse, but mostly okay... so long as his soul stays put. 

"See, Angel used to be this superbad vamp, but then he killed this gypsy and her family cursed him to have a soul so that he would feel remorse for all the things he did, but there was a catch. If he ever experienced true happiness he'd revert to how he was originally. So, on her sixteenth birthday or something, Angel shagged Buffy and turned evil. This was back before Dad knew Mum and the woman he was dating then was from the same family of gypsies, and according to all accounts he was pretty gone on her. Anyway, evil soulless Angel didn't want Dad's girlfriend to put the soul back in, so he murdered her and left her in Dad's bed, romantic opera music playing, candles on the stairs, trail of red roses leading to the bedroom, rose petals all around her on the bed. He even took the time to draw her."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in horror. "That's..." For once words failed her.

"Yeah, well, even though he killed this Jenny, she left instructions behind on how to renew the curse, and Aunt Willow put Angel's soul back. The problem is that Aunt Buffy buys into the idea that Angel is a different person from Angelus, the soulless version. She acts like it's a Sybil sort of thing and Angel has nothing to do with it because his wasn't the personality in charge at the time. Dad doesn't see it that way. As far as he's concerned Angel is just Angelus with a muzzle. He hates having him anywhere near him." 

"I can imagine," Hermione replied, sounding both exasperated and more than a little annoyed on Giles' behalf. "Well, no I can't, not with someone I really loved, but there was a point when we all thought someone I admired and respected was murdered. You'll see what I mean when you read the book."

"Yeah, well, if Angel ever admitted that Dad has a real reason not to like him, then that would be like him admitting it was him who killed her, and that's _never_ going to happen. Not that he won't bring up the Illyria thing if you give him half a chance." She shrugged as if to say, _'What can you do?'_ "And sometimes Aunt Buffy forgets the world doesn't _always_ revolve around her just because she's _'The Chosen One'_. She doesn't mean to do it. She just doesn't think."

Hermione gave a chuckle of amusement. "Did I say that I was the sidekick? Put your book somewhere safe, let's get this food sorted out, and then we can go and check on your dad." 

  


* * *

  


By the time the buffet was arranged, the music had taken a change for the more melodic and the club was filling up with pre-teens. Knowing that she was unlikely to get another chance to talk to Audrey before the girl had fulfilled the 'meet and greet' part of her duties as hostess and not wanting to intrude while Anya pacified her husband, Hermione filled a plastic tumbler with sparkling grape juice and ambled over toward Saturnin and his companions.

"Soddin' awful place!" the blond vampire was complaining. "Give me Belgrade. Give me Bucharest. Give me Warsaw or Moscow. Anywhere but that hell hole." 

A taller figure with brown hair gelled into spikes and an eye-catching brow ridge gave a derisive snort. "Anyone would think Prague was the only place where you were chased out of town by an angry mob. The way I remember it, that used to happen on a weekly basis."

"Like you hung around long enough to know what the hell I did!" the blond retaliated.

"Can't you two be in the same room for ten minutes without arguing?" asked the petite blonde who had been restocking the bar earlier.

"Only if we have someone else to argue with," Spike answered.

"Perhaps Hermione can settle the matter. I believe she also spent some time in Eastern Europe. Which is your favourite city?"

Hermione crinkled her nose as she joined the group and took the vacant bar stool next to the one where Saturnin sat. "I still do, but we were never really the city type," she answered, trying to hedge around the fact that Viktor's fame had made it awkward to go anywhere there was a large wizarding population. "We have a house on the Black Sea coast outside Obzor, and my in-laws live in the mountains near Vratsa. We go to Sofia or Istanbul, if we really need something we can't get locally, but, when he wasn't working, my husband preferred peace and quiet rather than sightseeing or clubbing and I suppose I've become set in my ways. Why do you ask?"

"I mentioned that I have an apartment in Prague. It seems that Spike isn't fond of the city." 

Hermione gave the vampire an enquiring look. "I've heard it's a lovely city... if you can avoid the tourists."

Spike snorted. "Bugger the tourists! It's the locals with pitchforks and torches."

Buffy snickered. "You're exaggerating. I don't know many people who live in cities who keep pitchforks."

"You can laugh!" the vamp protested. "If it wasn't for that mob—"

"You wouldn't have strung me up in a deconsecrated church and tried to kill me with some creepy magic ritual to make your insane girlfriend better?" the tall brunette suggested.

Mischief glinted in the blond vamps eyes. "Well, I'd have skipped the ritual part, an' it was you as drove Dru bonkers in the first place, wanker."

"Hey, Testosterone Boys! You're not auditioning for Jerry Springer," the slayer reproved before she turned to Hermione. "Spike is too busy arguing to introduce everybody, but I'm Buffy and this is Angel." She held out a hand.

"It's a pleasure," Hermione responded, damping down her impolitic desire to plunge in and ask questions about what it was like to be resurrected and how it had been done. Instead she noted the tiny signs of the woman's age in the crows' feet at the corners of her eyes and in the looseness of the skin at her neck. Just small signs, but to the critical eye she already looked nearly a decade older than her perennially youthful husband.

"Saturnin's been very cagey about why you're both here," the blonde remarked conversationally.

"It's a business thing," Hermione answered blithely. "You could say that we're both competing for the same contract."

"You seem pretty damn friendly for people who're in competition," Spike added, seeming to assess the pair anew.

"There was a time when we both worked for the same organisation," Severus drawled.

"Saturnin was responsible for a great deal of my training when I was starting out," Hermione added.

It was at that point that the Backstreet Boys faded out, and even before they had heard enough of the next track to recognise it, Saturnin slid gracefully from his bar stool and held out a hand to Hermione. "Would you care to dance?"

"Ehm, yeah, okay," she answered. "I mean yes, thank you."

Their new acquaintances watched them as they wound their way to the dance-floor and Saturnin took a tense Hermione into his arms.

"Don't know what they're trying to pull, but I'd keep an eye on them," Spike said, watching as Saturnin appeared to almost berate the woman under cover of the music.

"They aren't demons in disguise or anything are they?" Buffy asked.

"No," Angel answered, "or, if they are, they smell human. But they're hiding something."

"And all that stuff about barely knowing each other... He made it pretty plain when they came in that she was taken," Spike added. "And if the body language wasn't enough, the pheromones never lie. Those two are gaggin' for it. If they don't end up in the same bed tonight, I'll..."

"Host a fourth of July barbecue for everyone we know and lead them all in singing the American national anthem?" Buffy suggested. 

"Yeah, like that's ever gonna—" Spike stopped dead at his wife's challenging glare. "Right! Yer on! An' if they do, you have to throw a party for Last Night of the Proms an' sing 'Land of Hope and Glory'."

Angel's eyebrows practically met in the middle as he frowned at his grandchilde. "You've heard Buffy sing, right?" 

"That's why I'm not makin' her murder Jerusalem," answered Spike. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party continues.

  
_For the wonderful, patient and long-suffering Geyer._

"Miss Granger," Saturnin hissed into Hermione's ear under cover of drawing her close to him in the dance as the music slowed. "You are without doubt the least secretive specimen that it has ever been my misfortune to see in action. Why were you ever given this assignment?" 

"Well, forgive me for not having graduated spy school!" Hermione argued in a somewhat higher pitch. "Minerva sent me because I relate well to children and Muggles. It's not like you can say the same."

"Perhaps not, but Eastern Europe is not exactly littered with trained Muggle-born witches and wizards, for obvious reasons," Saturnin explained. "There are few faculty members at Durmstrang of even half-blood status. Nevertheless, at least I know that, if you _want_ to keep a secret, you give your audience the most boring answer you can. You do not titillate them with half-truths that invite further questioning."

"What was I supposed to do?" Hermione demanded. "Lying isn't second nature to all of us, and even if I could lie to normal people, those were vampires. They would have picked up on a dozen signs that others wouldn't."

"Then I suggest that you steer clear of them for the rest of the evening." His voice was like raw silk against her ear. "Stay with those who know your secrets." 

"Like you?" Hermione asked.

"Like me, like Miss Giles, like her parents and her brother," Saturnin replied. "I suggest, on the basis of your recent performance, that if anyone else comes near you, you should cultivate a burning desire to powder your nose. Now, will you damn well relax? People are supposed to believe you're enjoying yourself."

Hermione gave a tiny snort. "Did you hear what I said about not being a good liar?"

"I'm not deaf, but I think it should be within even your capabilities to put your arms around my neck, rest your face on my shoulder and sway in time to the music. I assure you that I've been told it's not an entirely unpleasant experience." 

Hermione lifted her chin and met his eyes in a defiant glare, but then she did as he'd requested, even if she couldn't resist one last barb. "You know certain women will say anything if you're paying them."

She expected arrogance and anger, but instead she felt the rumble of laughter against her ear. "Touché, Madam Krum. I will remember that the kitten has grown some claws." 

Strangely, after that, Hermione did find her body becoming more pliant in his embrace. 

  


* * *

  


"Okay, Giles, what's the what?" Buffy demanded in her usual tactful way.

"In what context?" Giles asked in a much put-upon tone as his wife pushed a whisky tumbler into his hand and interposed herself between him and the vampires.

"Rupie, we're not brain-dead," Spike protested.

"Yeah, Giles," Angel added. "Since when do people trail half way around the world to negotiate contracts with an outlet the size of _The Magic Box_? Random _English_ people, who know enough to be able to spot a vamp at first meeting, just turning up out of the blue?"

"I thought you were supposed to be retired, Watcher," Spike added. "Why's the Council snooping around?"

Anya rolled her eyes. "As if I'd invite stuffy old Watchers!" She turned briefly to her husband. "No offence, darling."

Giles scowled at the two vampires. "Believe it or not, the Council doesn't employ the entire population of England, not even all the English people who come to America."

"Look at Hugh Laurie," Anya added. 

"Well, they didn't come here to sell you slug-scented candles!" Buffy argued.

"Of course not," Anya agreed. "They're here to talk to Audrey about Witch School."

"Which school?" Angel asked. "Like 'Which?' magazine? Isn't she kinda young to be picking colleges?"

"No, Witch School, with a T," Anya corrected, "or Witch Schools; they work for different ones." 

"Anya, dear, I don't think you were meant to mention that to anyone outside the family," Giles said, reaching for the glasses that he wasn't wearing, and then covering by running his fingers through his hair. 

"How come there are Witch Schools and this is the first I'm hearing about it?" Buffy demanded.

Anya stared flatly back at the slayer. "You never asked." 

"But if there was a Witch School, wouldn't they have wanted Willow?" asked Buffy.

"Try saying that ten times fast," Spike interjected.

"Willow didn't exhibit any obvious signs of power until her mid to late teens," Anya argued. "And her mother hated magic."

"What's that got to do with it?" Angel asked.

Giles gave him a disparaging look. Not that he thought it was a completely idiotic question per se, but he'd take any opportunity Angel presented. "It matters because the American school charges for tuition and board. If a candidate's parents refused to pay their fees - and I suspect that someone who once tried to burn her own daughter at the stake might just quibble a little about paying for magic lessons - their representative would simply make the whole family forget she was ever offered a place."

"Or try to, once he gets back from wherever I teleported him to," Anya added.

  


* * *

  


They were allowed two slow songs in succession before the party music took a turn for the more upbeat.

 _"This,"_ Saturnin remarked, "falls well outside the bounds of duty. Might I interest you in a drink instead?"

"Nothing alcoholic," Hermione stipulated. "A double gin and half a bottle of wine is my limit when I'm representing the school." 

"As you wish. Might I recommend that you find a secluded table for two?"

Hermione's eyes flashed upward to meet Saturnin's pitch-black gaze.

"The birthday girl is opening her presents," he pointed out. "I suspect that your friendly vampires will remain in the vicinity of her and her family until the ritual is complete. Therefore, I cannot leave you with either Audrey or her parents."

"I'm not sure that there are any empty tables," Hermione admitted.

Saturnin replied with a feral grin. "Are you a teacher or aren't you?" 

  


* * *

  


As the children dispersed throughout the club, Giles and Anya began to dispose of the mountain of wrapping paper that adorned the table where the family had been sitting.

"This one's from us," Spike announced, stepping forward to hand the young girl a small package wrapped in silver paper, now that she'd opened all those from her peers.

The girl beamed up at her favourite 'uncle' and wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug that prompted a snort from her father. She took the gift and began to shred the wrapping paper. A rainbow of velvet ribbons spilled from the opening, and she pulled them free before tipping out an ornate heart-shaped locket to land on top of them.

The locket was about an inch and a half tall, and though it had been recently polished, the deeper recesses in the design still held a patina of age. "It's gorgeous," Audrey enthused, as she fingered the catch, and opened it up.

Anya looked less thrilled. "Where did you get that, Spike?"

"It's not stolen, if that's what you're worried about," the vampire protested. "Leastways, not from anyone that's going to complain." He turned to Audrey who was looking at the hollow interior with a slightly puzzled mien. "Not set up for photos. Sorry, pet. Think it's a bit older than that, but you can always keep a lock of hair in there when you find someone as hair you'd want to keep."

"Spike!" Giles growled.

The vampire rolled his eyes. "It was in with all that stuff that came with the Gem of Amarra. I kept a few of the nicer bits and pieces. Thought Bite-Size might be growin' out of her tomboy phase enough to appreciate it."

"Spike..." Both parents seemed to loom over the blond vampire, even though Anya wasn't as tall as he was.

"Oh, stop gettin' your knickers in a twist, Demon Girl." Spike pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one with his usual flagrant disregard for California's anti-smoking laws. "It's all been checked. Had a demon I know down in LA check all the stuff I kept for bad mojo. It's clean."

"I hope so," Giles pronounced solemnly, the tension in his body promising grave retribution if the vampire was mistaken.

Audrey selected the soft green ribbon that best matched the top she was wearing.

Seeing what she was doing, Spike took ribbon and locket from her hands and threaded the two together before he tied the pendant around her neck.

Buffy stepped forward carrying a much bulkier gift. "This one is from Oz and Willow. They're really sorry they couldn't make it, but it's their busy time of the month."

Audrey shrugged. "I guessed. You run a werewolf sanctuary, you're not going to get the night off come full moon." She undid the string and brown paper wrapping and skimmed the note that came with the gifts: a dream catcher with a wolf's head design and a pale-coloured sheepskin-like jacket with beaded embroidery in pastel pinks and blues and greens. 

"Oz says the shaman Willow's been working with made the dream catcher, and they got the jacket from the trading post at Long Lake. He says the embroidery is a Dene Tha' thing. And he says don't forget our guitars when we go up there in July. That's about it." She passed the note to her father and set the dream catcher down on the table with her other gifts while she tried on the jacket.

"It's a _little_ big," she decided before she shrugged it off again and folded it neatly on top of her stash of gifts.

Giles shook his head slightly. "It'll be fine by the time you put on a jumper or two, and it sounds as if you'll be needing those... one way or the other." His voice seemed to crack slightly on the last few words. 

"Giles?" Spike raised an eyebrow and waited to see if the former Watcher was prepared to offer more information.

"Dad, if you really don't want me to go..." Audrey began.

"Darling, that's not what your father means," Anya cut in, squeezing Giles' hand as she did so. "Your father and I want you to do whatever will make you happiest. That's not to say that we won't miss you if you choose to go, but you'd be home for holidays. If you choose Hogwarts, we might even move to England."

Giles stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his daughter and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"Da-a-ad," Audrey sighed resignedly, but she made no effort to extricate herself from his arms. 

"You're growing up and sooner or later you're going to leave your poor old dad behind. If it isn't now, it'll be when you go off to college, and that's the way it's meant to be. I might wish you could wait until you're a little older, but if you pass on this opportunity now, you won't get a second chance. _You_ have to decide if it's something _you_ want, not me, not your mother. And if you try it and it's not for you... your room will be waiting for you." 

Audrey squeezed her father more tightly and lifted her head to look him in the eye. "You're the best, Dad."

"Just be happy," Giles whispered, so that Audrey had to read his lips rather than hear the words through the music that permeated the club. "And write at least twice a week," he added more loudly.

Anya positively beamed at her little family as father and daughter finally drew apart. She took Giles' hand and stood on tip-toe to brush her lips to his cheek. "I'm _so_ proud of you," she said for his ears alone, her dark brown eyes gleaming as she drew him away from the group toward a roped-off stairway.

"Mo-o-om!" Robert protested. "We're in public." He rolled his eyes and headed off for the corner where his friends were congregated. 

"Hey!" Angel protested. "I haven't given her _my_ present yet?"

"Is it jewellery?" Giles asked, drawing Anya to a brief stop.

Angel blushed at the reminder of the gift he had given Buffy when he first started to keep an eye on her. "What?" he stuttered.

"Watcher wants to know if you're going to go all stalkery on his little girl like you did with the Slayer when she was jailbait," Spike translated. "Seems like a reasonable question to me!"

"Shut up, Spike!" Angel muttered.

"Too close to the truth, huh?"

"No. Look, it's just— It's not that sort of gift."

Anya tugged again at Giles' hand. "Angel, you don't need an audience. Just give her the gift," she said. "Spike, we're borrowing your office. When we come down, I want some music that Giles and I can dance to." 

Angel pulled a box about the right size and shape to hold a bottle of wine from his coat pocket with a disgruntled sigh. "Here," he said as he graciously handed it over. "Spike said you were into all that Egyptian crap." 

Audrey had barely slid the statuette of a woman with a cat's head free of its wrapping when the DJ put on the timeless classic, 'Jump Around' by House of Pain. Audrey shoved the statuette on the table with more speed than care and grabbed Spike's hand. 

Spike tossed Buffy a playful glance and let himself be towed into the middle of a crowd of pogo-ing eleven-year-olds.

Angel stood next to Buffy in embarrassed silence for several seconds before he knocked back the contents of his glass. "So, do you want another drink?" 

  


* * *

  


"You couldn't even intimidate a couple of kids into getting up?" Saturnin asked as he passed Hermione another glass of grape juice.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might not be comfortable with that?" Hermione responded. "If you hadn't forbidden me to speak to anyone, I might have gone about things another way." 

"Or we could sit over there?" He nodded toward the corner booth piled with gifts. He held out his arm and Hermione curled her free hand around the crook of his elbow. His arm gave her additional support as she strolled over to the table on three-inch heels.

Hermione slid into the seat, moving far enough along to leave room for Saturnin to sit at her side before she took a sip of her drink. 

His thigh brushed hers as he took the seat, but he pulled back immediately.

Hermione resisted the urge to slide toward him, rearranging the amorphous heap of gifts into tidy piles to make more room. 

Saturnin's lips quirked as he pulled _'Hogwarts: An Updated History'_ from the heap. "I should have known."

"It gives her more information than we could possibly give her in an interview, and she can assimilate it at her own speed. If we can plant a seed..." Hermione suggested.

"Oh, I agree, but don't you think that this violates the spirit of our non-competition agreement?"

Hermione gave him a mischievous smile. "I didn't happen to have a history of Durmstrang in my bag. I'm sure you can arrange to send her a copy, if you're so inclined."

"I might. Perhaps I should send one to your son, too?"

"You're welcome to, but I don't think it would change Dimi's mind. He knows Viktor preferred Hogwarts. It just depends how much he wants to get away from me," Hermione admitted.

"Durmstrang has changed since Viktor's day," Saturnin said.

"I know," Hermione said. "You've made real headway. You've brought Muggle-borns into the system. You've managed to talk the various Ministries into giving you funding for more teachers, but the building was never designed to hold so many people." 

She gave him a sad smile. "They'll approve revenue funding, but no-one wants to pay for more classrooms and more living quarters. The former Russian Ministry won't chip in unless Bulgaria, Poland, the Czechs, the Slovaks, the Slovenians and everyone else come to a mutual agreement, and that's not going to happen any time soon. They might, but they're afraid. They don't want to spend a goblin's ransom to expand the facilities, for the next guy to come along and go back to the pureblood line. Some do it out of pragmatism and some are motivated by prejudice, but it amounts to the same thing. You've raised a fair bit in donations from former pupils, but your physical expansion program won't catch up with pupil numbers anytime soon. Until it does, you have overcrowded dormitories and teachers sharing classrooms and offices."

"You _have_ been doing your homework," Saturnin drawled. 

"He's my son," Hermione replied. "He might not want to go to school where I teach, but if he decides to go to Durmstrang, it _will_ be an informed decision." 

"Then you should know that your assessment sounds far worse than the reality. Much of the castle has been magically expanded. It's not an ideal situation, but some would say reinforcing the spells periodically provides work for otherwise idle hands." Saturnin gave a wry grimace. 

Hermione gave a snort of disbelief. "I can't imagine you having the patience to be idle." 

Severus inclined his head and took a sip from his tumbler of amber liquid. "Have you considered that if he chooses Durmstrang it might not be because of you? He might want to feel closer to his father." 

"He might," Hermione conceded, "and attending Durmstrang would make him feel less like he's losing that side of his heritage." She shook her head as if trying to clear it. "Let's talk about something else. It's not like I would be any worse off than every other witch whose son goes away to school." 

Saturnin seemed to hesitate for a moment before he gave a nod. "At worst, you would have the advantage of being personally acquainted with his headmaster." 

"Just acquainted?" Hermione teased.

Severus's brows drew together. "For now. It may take me a little time to reconcile the unholy trinity of Jean duBois, Gryffindor know-it-all and—" 

Hermione caught her lower lip beneath her teeth to stop a sigh escaping her lips as his sin-black eyes brazenly catalogued every physical feature from the tip of her head on down until the table hid her thighs from view and then equally slowly travelled back up to pause at that captured lip before meeting her own.

"And?" she asked with a tremor of trepidation.

His lips curved into a leisurely smile, one eyebrow quirked briefly upward, and he picked up both their inexplicably empty glasses and slid from the booth with his customary sinuous grace. 

  


* * *

  


"Penny for them."

Hermione started visibly, drawn from her contemplations. Her gaze switched from the enigma at the crowded bar to the young girl who was taking the seat opposite her. "Nothing worth sharing."

"Nothing worth sharing, or nothing worth sharing with an eleven-year-old?" Audrey asked gently.

"Nothing suitable for a birthday, though since I could become your teacher the other might apply, too," Hermione admitted.

Audrey snorted as she sorted through the debris beside her on the seat until she found a large carrier bag. "Have you seen my parents together? You can't grow up in a house with the two of them and not be able to recognise the signs. You were staring straight at him and I've seen enough of those smiles."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes as she knelt on her seat to make it easier to help the girl pack her presents into the bag. "I wasn't thinking about him."

Audrey gave her a sceptical look.

"No, really. I was thinking about my husband." Hermione picked up the Egyptian statuette, planning to replace it in its box before she packed it away, but before she even worked out why, she found herself frowning. 

"Ah. So you have your very own Księcia?"

 _'If only.'_ Hermione finally put her finger literally and figuratively on what was bothering her. The asymmetrical glyphs should have faced in a uniform direction, but they didn't. The designers had probably just chosen glyphs at random. "Not any more. I was just wondering what Viktor would have been like as he grew older." 

"A bit like Doctor Księcia?" Audrey suggested.

"No!" Hermione burst out, finally lifting her eyes from the figure and returning it to its box before she added it to the bag. "Okay, well, maybe a bit. One of my friends used to call Viktor Snape-Lite, but that was just his idea of a joke. I mean on a superficial level, there are some physical similarities, and Viktor was very intelligent and I suppose neither of them were ever exactly gregarious, but Viktor was only a few years older than I am and..." Hermione's description ended with a wistful sigh. The words just didn't exist to tell someone who hadn't known him just how different from his public persona Viktor could be within the shelter of the family unit. She gave a small shrug. "He loved me and he loved our sons." That was the true difference for which no amount of similarities could ever compensate. "He put up walls as far as most of the world was concerned, but he was different with us."

"Maybe Doctor Księcia would be different in private, too?" the girl suggested slyly. "And a bit of an age difference isn't the end of the world." She nodded toward where her parents were dancing a salsa or some other dance Hermione couldn't identify to _'La Vida Loca'_. "Mom's always said that Dad was the best thing that ever happened to her, and I'm guessing you and Mom are about the same age and Dad maybe has a couple of years on your doctor."

Hermione sighed. "This isn't the sort of discussion we should be having."

"I'm not a pupil at either of your schools, yet."

"Nevertheless... He wouldn't appreciate it. Not only that; it's a pointless discussion," Hermione argued. "And it isn't _just_ his age. Doctor Księcia used to be my teacher. It would never work."

"Dad was Mom's high school librarian. Same thing."

"He w-what?" Hermione sputtered.

"Dad was the librarian at Mom and Buffy's high school. That was his cover so he could do his watcher thing without getting locked up for hanging around school playgrounds. I mean Mom was about twenty-three or twenty-four before they started dating. They didn't go out when she was at school, but you're no schoolgirl either." 

"No, I'm old enough to know things are never as easy as you make them sound," Hermione said. She picked up the dream catcher, examining the detail on the carved wolf head. "Even if we wish they were."

"We don't use that word." Audrey's serious expression surprised Hermione. 

"What word?" 

"Wish. We never wish. Not out loud. Bad things can happen if you wish." 

  


* * *

  


When Saturnin returned to the table, all the gifts had been cleared away and consigned to a selection of bags at the far end of the booth. He resumed his seat at Hermione's side, inclining his head toward Audrey as he did so. "We haven't actually been introduced."

"Doctor Saturnin Księcia," Hermione began. "Miss Audrey Giles, but if you plan to look him up in that book, you'll find him under Professor Severus Snape, Order of Merlin."

"Third class," Saturnin added cynically.

"What does that mean?" Audrey asked.

"It means he was only ever given a fraction of the appreciation he deserved. The Order of Merlin is British wizarding society's highest honour, but there are three tiers of recognition—"

"Third class being the lowest. Professor Krum holds an Order of Merlin, First Class. You'll find her listed under Insufferable Know-It-All."

Hermione's jaw dropped open at the cruel words, but then she saw that his lips had not thinned into a disdainful line, nor had his eyes the cold gleam she'd once known. "I think, Doctor, that you'll find that's only in your copy. In everyone else's, I'm listed under my maiden name as Hermione Granger." 

Audrey grinned. "I'm going to leave you two alone before he starts pulling your braids literally instead of metaphorically. I hope you'll both be able to visit with me and my family tomorrow after school. I hope to have read at least some of that book by then, and I think Dad will be a bit more receptive." 

"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Giles," Saturnin rose and gave a curt bow as the girl left her seat.

The girl's eyes darted all too knowingly between Saturnin and Hermione before she answered, "Likewise."

As the girl was swallowed up in a crowd of similarly coltish pre-adolescents, Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the dark, polished granite finish of the table top. "Were you?"

"What answer would you like?" Saturnin purred.

"An honest one."

Music blared through the P.A. system, but at the table, neither so much as breathed. 

"You invaded my privacy. I thought a modicum of charm would repulse you more effectively than any protests," Saturnin finally admitted.

"Oh!" Hermione rose to her feet. "In that case, if you'll excuse me..."

"Sit down, Hermione. You asked for honesty."

"Let me out. I won't stay where I'm not wanted!" 

With a tug on her arm he pulled her back down to her seat and used just enough pressure to hold her there. "I expected you to regard me either as the subject of one of your crusades or as a subject for potential gossip between you and your erstwhile friends. However, you did not react as the rather prissy young girl I remembered would have done."

"It's called growing up. I doubt that the Severus Snape I knew had much in common with the one who was a pupil at Hogwarts."

Saturnin arched an eyebrow but decided to save that discussion for another time. "I admit that my preconceptions were erroneous. I had no more wish to be treated like some tragic hero than I had to play the Death Eater I once was, and so I responded as a man. When I realised that you were not intimidated, my curiosity was piqued. You have matured into a woman who is not completely devoid of charm. Your published works show that you have finally learned to use your intellect rather than regurgitate the words of others by rote. I decided to see where events might lead."

"I see," Hermione answered coolly. "Now if you'd remove your arm and get out of my way, I would like to use the bathroom." 

  


* * *

  


Hermione stormed through the door, looking desperately for something satisfying to kick. Unfortunately, the only potential candidates that wouldn't result in a broken toe were a couple of Audrey's friends. "Damn the man!" she muttered under her breath as she pushed into one of the stalls and locked the door behind her. 

She fingered her wand, wishing that she could Untransfigure the jeans she had loaned Severus without breaking the Statute of Secrecy. It would almost be worth Obliviating everyone in the club to cut off circulation to those man-bits, better still if they cut off the man-bits altogether. Pity that he would probably just transfigure them back in two seconds flat.

Tears of frustration overflowed and the air around her tingled with errant magic like the precursor of a thunderstorm. She had thought that Saturnin was her friend, had hoped that he might even become more, but underneath he was just Severus Snape, bitter, twisted, misanthropic, all with good reason, and also a complete bastard. How could she have ever forgotten that? How could she ever have thought that Severus "I see no difference" Snape might actually like her? Six years of first-hand experience, and she'd forgotten it all in a day, falling for his manipulation. He hadn't reinvented himself after the war. He'd just found a new mask. 

He was no Viktor, with a heart that was loyal and generous, hidden under a brusque exterior. 

Mad as she was at him, it was nothing to how pissed off she was at herself for wanting to believe. The sooner she could have that chat with Audrey and her parents tomorrow, the sooner she could go home to the only men who mattered, her boys. 

The air in the stall swirled around her, tugging at the strands of her sophisticated coiffure in eddies that defied the air conditioning system. She leaned over the toilet to press all ten fingertips to the gleaming tile of the load-bearing wall in an effort to 'earth' the power coruscating from them in opalescent shades, until with an effort of will, she drew her magic back under her control. 

Spent, she took a seat, elbows on knees, chin in hands, feeling as alienated and alone as she had when she had skipped her first Hogwarts Halloween feast. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's a birthday party and Buffy is there. What could go wrong?

Banner kindly provided by AlwaysJBJ

 _For the wonderful, patient and long-suffering Geyer._

 

Saturnin strode to the bar, scattering pre-teens as he went. 

"Amaretto?" the barmaid asked, automatically reaching to scoop some ice into a glass.

Saturnin, however, was no longer in the mood for sipping alcohol. "Bourbon, double, no ice." He should have cut his losses as soon as Granger made an appearance. The Giles family were never going to send their child to a school run by a murderer. He had no legitimate reason to stay. He poured the sour mash down his throat and set his empty glass on the bar.

"Need that, did you?"

It was the blond vampire. 

"One for the road," Saturnin answered in a caustic tone that would have discouraged most people from further conversation.

Spike wasn't most people. "So, where's your little lady?"

"I don't have a lady, little or otherwise."

Spike lifted an eyebrow. "Sure you do. That cute teacher from the school that sounds like a pig disease. Or have you had a fallin' out?"

"We've never had a falling in," Saturnin replied, his lips drawn tight. "And what, exactly, has she been telling you?" 

"Hermione? No more than she said in front of you. Of course, that was enough for us to go ask Anya. She didn't seem to think it was a huge secret."

Saturnin gave up on his plan to go back to his hotel, pack, and Portkey to Durmstrang. "And just how many people did Mrs Giles tell?"

"Just me, the missus an' Angel. Don't worry."

Saturnin's lips formed a grimace. "I'm not worried." Obliviating three people was hardly a challenge, even if it was inconvenient. "What time do you get rid of the ankle-biters?"

Spike nodded to the corner nearest the entrance. "Parents are starting to show up already. We'll shut down the DJ in about twenty minutes. Tidy up a bit, give the staff time for coffee an' a fag or somethin' to eat. Back in business for eleven. You're welcome to hang around."

"Better give me another."

  


* * *

  


"Well, I'm sure you must have a long day tomorrow, Catherine," Giles suggested with a slightly pained smile.

"Not really," the last of the parents replied.

"Well, I wouldn't want Miss Gutierrez blaming us if Michelle is falling asleep—"

Suddenly, the lights in the club went up to full dizzying brightness and Spike raised his voice, possibly prompted by a nudge from Anya. "You know the routine, ladies and gents! You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. We've got a club to run."

Buffy took a more personal approach. "I'm afraid we need to clear up, if you could move your conversation outside..."

The woman cast one last covetous glance in Giles' direction before she allowed Buffy to usher her and her daughter out.

"Okay, everyone!" Buffy shouted drawing a bill from her jeans pocket. "Break time! Anyone going by Starbucks, grab the usual for me and Spike."

The DJ swiped the note from Buffy's hand before she exited via a door designated for employees only. 

"Smoke 'em if you've got 'em!" Spike added, as Elise and the male bartender lifted back part of the bar counter and filed out. 

The bouncer who had greeted Saturnin and Hermione earlier came through from the foyer, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of the slender vampiress as they headed for the back door. 

"Half an hour, folks!" Spike reminded them. "Don't make me come lookin' for ya."

Anya took a seat on the bar stool next to Saturnin, resting her back against the counter and extending a hand to Giles as he came to join her. "What did you do to Hermione?" she demanded of Saturnin as she twined her fingers with her husband's.

Saturnin's glittering gaze swung from the drink in front of him to meet Anya's head on. "Why does everyone assume that _I_ did something?" he asked sotto voce. 

  


* * *

  


Hermione was alone in the toilets when the dampened echoes of pounding baselines abruptly ceased. "No matter," she told herself. "It's not like I can get locked in."

Before she had left the cubicle, she had used a Cleansing Charm to obliterate every last trace of her cosmetics, leaving her face once more as a blank canvas. She set her handbag on the shelf over one of the wash basins and stared at her reflection. Severus Snape had no idea what he was missing out on.

First things first. She found the vial of eye refreshing solution she kept for after long marking sessions. She tipped back her head and added a couple of drops to each eye, banishing the gritty feeling and healing the blood vessels. Another balm quickly soothed the dry and reddened skin her tears had caused.

A quick dusting of powder foundation and a delicately smudged application of eyeliner made her feel almost human again. She chose a shimmering lip gloss the colour of pink champagne before she turned her attention to her creased and tired-looking top. She discarded the Slytherin silver rag, her hand hovering briefly over her bag before she threw it into the paper towel bin. There was no point in pretending she would ever want to wear it again.

She knew that quite a few women would consider the ivory strapless bustier which she wore as perfectly decent club wear, but she added a chiffon blouse, the colour of autumn leaves. Then, she swapped her high-heels for some more comfortable sandals in natural leather.

Lastly, she tackled the hair. Far too much of it had come loose in her temper for her to salvage it. She pulled out the pins and carded her fingers through it until it hung free. Normally, it reached the bottom of her shoulder blades in a riot of thick curls. Having been braided when her hair was wet and combed through with Sleekeazy, it spilled to her waist in waves that looked as if she had attacked it with oversized crimpers. She twirled a section at each side into a loose coil and then fixed them at the back of her head with a copper clasp.

She stared at her rebuilt reflection in the mirror and knew that she had every reason to feel good about what she saw. This was her. Maybe, at first glance, it was a softer look than her more sophisticated appearance earlier. The woman in the mirror was simply Hermione, no pretence, no veneer, no extra effort. There was nothing soft, however, about the expression which she wore. 

  


* * *

  


She strode directly toward the knot of people gathered at the bar, planning to say her goodbyes to the Giles family and then leave. 

As she approached, Anya rose from her seat and came to greet her. "That was a quick change," the blonde remarked.

Hermione couldn't prevent her instinctive glare in Snape's direction as she answered, "I felt dirty."

"Are you alright?" Giles asked, his gaze flicking back and forth between the witch and wizard.

Hermione arranged her features into a polite smile. "It's nothing. I—" She cast another disparaging look in the direction of the bar. "You've been wonderful hosts. I don't know if Audrey told you she'd mentioned the possibility of Doctor Księcia and me dropping by after school tomorrow to discuss her situation further?"

Giles gave a nod. "Seven o'clock at our home?" he suggested.

Hermione smiled in response and offered Giles her hand. "I'll look forward to it." Having shaken Giles' hand, she turned to Anya. To her surprise the former-demon took her into her arms. "If you want him cursed, I still know people in the business," she whispered in Hermione's ear.

"That's alright," Hermione answered. "I'm sure, if I really wanted, I could find something appropriate, but I'm inclined to think that nothing could really make him much more miserable than comes naturally."

"Keys!" Audrey demanded as she and Robert each set a handful of bags on the floor. While Giles rummaged in his pockets, Audrey turned to Hermione. "You're leaving?"

"That's the plan," Hermione agreed. "Do you need any help with those? I can give you a hand on my way to the taxi rank." 

"Sure." Audrey took the car keys from her dad's hand and passed Hermione the largest of the three bags she'd been carrying.

"Better use the back door, Niblet!" Spike called out. "Steve should've locked up the front when he went for his break."

"Be careful," Anya warned her children. "If anyone's hanging around in the alley come straight back in."

"Mo-o-om," Robert complained. "This isn't the Hellmouth. As if any other vamp would hang around here anyway!"

Giles gave his son a cuff that did nothing more than ruffle his hair. "Just keep your eyes open. Vampires aren't the only things that come out at night. We'll be there in a minute, just as soon as Spike separates me from the contents of my wallet." 

  


* * *

  


Buffy and Angel watched as Hermione accompanied Robert and Audrey to the door. They waited until she was out of hearing to start humming under their breaths. 

Spike couldn't make out any tune, but the length of the supposed notes was enough. He raised his right hand in acknowledgment, index and middle finger raised, and continued his discussion with Giles.

"What's that about?" Giles asked.

"Buffy and I have a little bet. Looks like she's going to win," Spike replied. 

Hermione tugged at the door, to no effect. She put down her bag so that she could use both hands, but it didn't move.

"Or maybe not," Spike added with a gleeful glint in his eye as he swiped Giles' cash off the counter and put it in a cash bag along with the slip for the till reading. He gave Saturnin a huge grin. "You sneaky bastard!" 

  


* * *

  


Audrey tapped Hermione on the shoulder. The witch stepped aside and the girl tried the door. Her brother stepped forward, adding his weight, but still it remained immovable. 

Giles' brows knotted together and he turned on Księcia. "Might I suggest that, whatever dispute you and Professor Krum are having, you refrain from involving my children?" 

Saturnin bit back his, "Or what?" He swivelled on his stool to face the Watcher. "Unlike your wife, I have lived my entire life according to the Statute of Secrecy."

Anya rolled her eyes. "As if it's a big deal telling two vampires and a Slayer that our daughter's a witch."

"It directly contravenes the rules by which our society exists," Saturnin argued.

"Phooey!" Anya replied. "They aren't exactly ignorant to begin with. They probably know more about how the world _really_ is than most witches or wizards ever will."

"Can we quibble about semantics _after_ we work out why a perfectly good door has suddenly decided it's a wall?" Giles demanded. "Buffy, check the front. Spike, Angel, see if brute strength and ignorance can succeed where everything else has failed."

"Snape!" Hermione called out in challenge as she stalked her way back toward the bar. "Does this have anything to do with you?"

Saturnin tossed back the contents of his glass. "I don't know. Does it?" he asked, slipping from his stool and meeting Hermione part way. "I would have gone home after your tantrum, if your earlier indiscretions hadn't made it necessary for me to await an opportunity to perform a certain task often carried out by the members of the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Squad. However, since your mood seems to swing with the regularity of a metronome, perhaps _you_ decided that you couldn't bear for me to leave." 

"I'd sooner lock myself in a six-foot cell with a manticore," Hermione shrilly assured him, rising up on tip-toe as she spoke so that her face was mere inches from his.

"I can assure you the feeling is entirely mutual," Saturnin responded in a silky whisper. 

"Then perhaps, _if_ it isn't you doing this, it's time you used your so-called expertise in the Dark Arts to work out how to get us out of here?" Hermione hissed.

Saturnin leaned in even more closely, placing his lips so near to Hermione's ear that her hair brushed against his cheek. "Miss Granger, you would do well to remember that I am well acquainted with your magical signature. You may protest as much as you like, but _I_ know you expended a large amount of magical energy just after you left our table. I could _feel_ it tingling on my skin, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Now, undo whatever you have done and let us both return to our lives. I will even help you with the requisite Memory Charms... _if_ you set things right before the American Ministry becomes involved." 

Hermione leaned in to reply equally discreetly. "I earthed some stray magic," she whispered sweetly. "Be glad that's all I did or tingles would have been the least of your worries." 

"You earthed some stray magic?" Saturnin purred disbelievingly. "Am I meant to believe you lost control like some hormonal adolescent?"

Hermione stepped back. She'd had enough of his games and wanted to read his face. "Wasn't that what you wanted?" she demanded. "Isn't that exactly why you said what you did? Because you couldn't resist one last chance to cut the Gryffindor know-it-all down to size?"

Saturnin snorted. "You are deluded, madam. All I said was that I found your company surprisingly pleasant and that, _at that time,_ before I realised that you were mentally unstable, I was content to spend time with you."

"Hah! You two-faced _Slytherin!_ " Hermione spat. "You may not have said the actual words but I caught the inference loud and clear. As you pointed out, I'm not completely stupid. I'm sure in the circles you customarily move in you can get away with saying that your companion isn't quite ugly enough to make you want to chew your arm off in the morning so you thought you might as well see if you could get your leg over—"

"That is _not_ what I said!"

"It's what you made it sound like!"

"Perhaps you two could stop arguing," Giles bellowed, "and work out what exactly _is_ keeping us all in here if it isn't either of you! You can start by checking Audrey's locket." 

"I _told_ you it wasn't the locket!" Spike protested.

"And I'd believe you," Giles answered with saccharin sweetness, "except for the fact that it comes from the same collection as one of the most highly magical items I've ever seen and this bears a striking resemblance to the time Dawn wished people would stop leaving her." 

"Great, Spike," Angel grumbled. "Trust you to give a cursed necklace to an eleven-year-old. And just _who_ did you get to check it?"

"Silence!" Severus barely raised his voice but the bickering ceased in an instant. "Miss Giles, if you would be so kind as to remove your pendant and place it on this table?" Even as Audrey fumbled with the knot Spike had tied, Severus turned away and strode toward the nearby door which separated the main club from the foyer and cloakroom.

"I thought you were going to check the necklace," Hermione found herself protesting as she followed at a slight distance.

"As I will," Saturnin drawled scornfully, "once I have ensured that there is no simpler explanation."

When Saturnin produced his wand, Hermione glanced at him askance. 

As if sensing her concerns, he muttered under his breath, even as his wand went through the motions of a Scarpin's Revealer Spell. "If we are being held here by magic, Miss Granger, then it profits us little to deny its existence."

"Oh!" Hermione conceded the point as the walls and doors of the room began to iridesce with glimmering motes of pearlescent colour. 

"What's he doing?" The question came from the younger of the two Giles' children, but Hermione realised that both of them had moved up to get a better view and were looking at her expectantly. 

Saturnin brandished his wand in ever more complicated manoeuvres, while Hermione provided commentary, based solely on the wand movements, since he had no need for verbal incantations.

Once he had tried various different methods of opening, unlocking, Transfiguring and even Disintegrating both the door and the nearby wall to no avail, Saturnin returned his wand to his sleeve. He stepped up to the double doors that barred his way and stretched out his arm, running his fingertips gently over the painted steel, his eyelids dropping closed.

Hermione watched as Saturnin moved closer and seemed to caress the barrier with gestures eerily like a lover's touch, as if he sought to savour and memorise the sensations that flowed through him. 

"And now?" Audrey asked.

"He's... hugging a door," Hermione suggested. 

"I am not hugging a door, Miss Granger," Saturnin retorted, all that intensity suddenly fixed on Hermione.

She was sure his glares hadn't had _that_ effect on her knees in her Hogwarts days. "And _I_ am no longer Miss Granger." 

"It is strange, then, that you still seem to act so much like her," Saturnin offered. "Try learning something that doesn't come out of a book. Come here." He held out a hand that both beckoned her forward and kept her from touching the walls. 

Hermione hesitated, reluctant to step back into her pupil role, but she owed it to her pupils to be prepared if a similar situation occurred. She stepped up. 

"First," Saturnin explained, "note the spectrum of colour for the Revealing Spell. Look for any darkness or muddiness in the colours that would indicate the source of the magic you're dealing with is dark or dubious. If there are any such indicators, then don't take any risks."

"I don't take risks—"

"Phht! And you're barred from every branch of Gringotts worldwide because you went overdrawn?" Saturnin scoffed. "Just remember that the Dark Arts is not your speciality and do not open yourself to any curses or dubious spells." 

"Open myself?" Hermione asked.

Saturnin reached out, taking Hermione's left hand in his right and then passing it into his left. "Open yourself," he confirmed. "When, and only when, you're ready..." He guided her hand until her finger tips were around a centimetre from the door's surface, and he stepped up behind her. His hypnotic whispers brushed against her ear. "Take your time. Try to empty your mind and calm your emotions before you make contact. The first steps have much in common with Occlumency. Imagine a blank slate, a sheet of fresh parchment, a silent room, an empty stage, a deserted beach at midnight on a moonless night... anything you associate with emptiness, with the absence of emotion." 

Hermione drew in a slow, faltering breath, held it for a few seconds and then let it ease out slowly.

"Fingertips first, the lightest possible touch," the silken voice explained. "You have my word that this is safe, but you should always be ready to withdraw the instant you feel anything off." His fingers twined loosely with hers, and he drew the very tips of their fingers to the door. "Now, let the magic in, just a trickle to begin with. Touch it, listen to it, breathe it in. Savour it the same way that you would taste a fine wine. Trust your intuition. Yes, Hermione, your intuition." He waited, letting the seconds tick by with Hermione's unruly hair brushing against his cheek, and her back less than an inch from him. "What do you feel?"

"I don't know. It doesn't make sense."

He shuffled forward. _"Feel,_ Hermione. Disengage that formidable brain and feel."

"It's old... ancient even, but, at the same time, it isn't."

"Move in. Draw it in with your whole body, with every part of your being." He guided her closer, pinning her between the door and his body. "Anything else?" Saturnin coaxed.

"It's strange somehow, different, unfamiliar."

"Dark?" he asked.

"No, it's really not. It's not good either, but more light than dark?" Hermione suggested, feeling Saturnin's nod of agreement more than seeing it.

"Is that all?"

"Mischief?"

"Mischief," Saturnin agreed.

"And warmth, not temperature, more like affection."

The warmth came from before and behind. Hermione's stomach muscles tightened as Saturnin's whisper brushed against her skin like a light summer breeze. "Fifty points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger." 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things that are regarded as classic in every school of magic.

Banner kindly provided by AlwaysJBJ

 _For the wonderful, patient and long-suffering Geyer._

Saturnin took a step backward and released Hermione before her focus could turn from the magic to the liberties she might perceive him to have taken. The air from the ventilation system hit her back like a cold shower now that he no longer shielded her from it. She hitched in a breath and turned to him. "But what does that get us other than a riddle wrapped inside an enigma?"

"You said it yourself," Saturnin said. "We're talking about lore so ancient that it has been forgotten by the wizarding world as we know it. It's so old and so alien that even with fifty-some years of arcane study, I can say little other than I doubt it is even human in origin... and yet this casting dates back no more than a year or two at most."

"Not human?" Hermione asked.

"Neither human, nor goblin, nor elven, nor centaur, nor any of the other sentient races that form part of our society."

"Could we be talking about a vampire sorcerer?" Giles interjected. "The locket was part of a horde belonging to—"

"Can you stop trying to blame me for long enough to even listen to him, Watcher?" Spike protested as he opened a cupboard under the bar and pulled out an unopened bottle of bourbon, twisting out the cork. "It's nigh on twenty years since I dug up that stuff. He says this only goes back a couple of years max." He threw the cork into a bin and took a deep drink. 

Saturnin seemed to still give Giles' suggestion some consideration. "No, this is not the work of any form of undead."

"Check the pendant," Hermione instructed Saturnin, as she strode across the dance floor. "It's the only way to stop them arguing." 

"A please wouldn't kill you when you're presuming to order around your former instructor," Saturnin growled.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please check the pendant, O Great and Wonderful Fount of All Knowledge," she replied sarcastically.

"Better," Księcia grumbled, one corner of his tight lips lifting faintly upward. "And, pray tell, what will you be doing?"

Hermione nodded to the bags by the back door. "I'll be unpacking the real problem." 

"Miss Granger!" Saturnin stopped her dead with just the tone of his voice. "Did you learn nothing from Miss Bell's unfortunate handling of that necklace? It would be a shame to cut short our reacquaintance due to your untimely death."

"You said that the magic wasn't dark, and if I'm right, both Audrey and I have already handled it," Hermione argued.

"And here we are trapped..." Saturnin drawled. "Well, I'm sure if you handle it some more you can get us into even more trouble. Go right ahead!"

  


* * *

  


"I, ehm, well, I apologise, Spike," Giles conceded with a sheepish expression after Anya had nudged him.

Spike opened his mouth, paused and then gave a shrug before he fixed his gaze firmly on his grandsire, who was currently questioning Buffy as to why they stocked Bushmills instead of Jamesons and refusing to acknowledge the fact that Saturnin had just confirmed that Audrey's locket was completely devoid of magic. "Yeah, well," the blond conceded, "It's only natural for _a dad_ to worry about his kid. Not like _you_ don't have an excuse." He raised his voice. "An' I stock Bushmills because I was nostalgic for your whining about protestant whiskey." 

"I was _not_ whining—"

"Nah, 'cause you'd have to be a right git to complain about free booze," Spike replied sarcastically. 

"I was _not_ whining. I was just asking Buffy a civilised question out of— Hey, that's my present!" Angel glared at Saturnin and Hermione as she carried the box containing the Egyptian-style figure to the table where Saturnin had examined Audrey's necklace. "What are you doing with it?"

"I am about to ascertain whether _it_ is, as Madam Krum suspects, the cause of our problems," Saturnin smoothly replied.

Spike snickered and took another pull from his bottle of bourbon. "Imagine giving a cursed whatever-it-is to an eleven-year-old!"

"We don't know that it's cursed," Angel peevishly protested. 

"Oh, and you waited for confirmation before you accused me. The experts seem to think it's the prime suspect."

"Who says they're experts?" Angel demanded. "They could be the ones doing all this. We don't know anything about either of them. It could be some sort of con trick. They could be saying it's the statuette just to throw suspicion away from them. We don't even know they can do magic at all."

Audrey gave the vamp a scathing glance. "The walls don't normally glow on their own."

"Huh?" Angel gave the girl a bewildered look that was echoed by Buffy.

"Sparkly walls," Robert replied scathingly. 

Giles turned his attention to the former star-crossed lovers. "Interesting..." he murmured and then raised an eyebrow in Spike's direction. "You?"

"Faint, but there. Look, Watcher, I know it goes with the job description an' all, but don't you think that you'd do better to put your brain to work thinking of a way out of here rather than making notes as if the rest of us are rats in your maze?"

"It's rather difficult to do much in the way of research when I can't get to my books," Giles snapped back. 

In the meantime, a combined effort from Saturnin and Hermione involving some carefully controlled levitation spells had managed to remove the statuette from its wrappings without either of them needing to touch it.

"See how the hieroglyphs are inconsistent?" Hermione pointed out. "I thought it was just because whoever did the design had copied them at random from different sources, but if you're right about the caster not being human..." 

"Yessss," Saturnin drawled contemplatively. "Stand back, please." 

"Let me see!" Anya cut in just as Saturnin raised his wand. The former demon crouched slightly, peering at the symbols on the edges of the statue's base as she circled the table. "Rupert! Spike! We need someone who can translate Quadimbassrasnasslugha."

"Quadimwhat?" Giles demanded, the frown lines at the centre of his forehead deepening considerably as Spike shook his head. 

"I know how to order a beer, basic tourist sort of stuff but that's about my limit. Can't make head nor tail of all the birdies and beasties and other squiggles." 

His wand still raised as if he had forgotten he'd been poised to cast, Saturnin pinned Anya in his jet gaze. _"What_ is Quadimbassrasnasslugha?"

Anya stared back intently for a few seconds and then took a step closer to Saturnin. "Well, don't you have an interesting family history? Giant, goblin or demon?" she asked. "Until Spike put the lights back up, I just thought they were really dark brown."

"I believe there are more important things to discuss than my heritage," Księcia whispered with chilling clarity. "Quadimbassrasnasslugha?" 

"Exactly what it says on the tin," Spike interrupted. "If you know Arabic. The ancient language of the cat-headed people."

Saturnin nodded his head in Spike's direction. "Certain elements of the written language seem to correspond to Ancient Egyptian. Do you perhaps know if the pronunciation might be similar?"

Spike shrugged. "It's not like they go meow." 

Hermione looked sceptical. "We don't even know whether it reads left to right or right to left."

"Huh?" Buffy screwed up her face. "If they use the same alphabet wouldn't you read them in the same direction?"

Giles ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair again. "Technically they're glyphs rather than letters and Ancient Egyptian isn't read in any set direction. Some examples read right to left, some read top to bottom and some read left to right. The asymmetrical characters always look toward the beginning of the text, so if all the _birdies and beasties_ as Spike calls them face to the right, then you would begin reading from right to left."

"Only here they don't," Hermione pointed out. "Some of them are facing right and some are looking the other way."

"Right to left," Anya interjected. "Now, how about you prove that you learned something in all that time you worked at The British Museum?"

"That was rather a long time ago, dear," Giles pointed out, colour rising to his cheeks as he realised that every English person in the room was now staring expectantly at him. "And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Some of the glyphs aren't actually pronounced. There are determinants and phonetic complements."

"Is he still speaking English?" Buffy asked Spike in a stage whisper. "And why would working in this British museum have anything to do with Egyptian stuff?"

"Because when archaeology was still tomb-robbing, Egypt was part of the British Empire, pet," Spike explained. "Everything that wasn't nailed down got shipped back to good old London town. And, yes, it's English. Dry as dust Watcher English, but English."

Giles gave a sigh and pinched his nose. "Some characters are there to provide clarification as to which of several meanings might be applied to an adjoining character, some determine pronunciation. The symbol _nfr_ , meaning beautiful might be followed by the phonetic symbols for _f_ and _r_ for example, or if the same symbol is followed by a determinative symbol for a pot, it means beer or wine, but is still pronounced _nefer_ , though we have no way to know the original vowel sounds. Custom dictates that we use an 'e' sound between consonants and an 'a' sound after a single consonant as in Ra, but we have no way of knowing the sounds originally used. If any part of this is an incantation, it may be impossible for us to replicate it accurately."

"Is this your way of saying it's hopeless?" Robert asked.

"I'm afraid it would be extremely difficult, and potentially inaccurate, unless I had access to the correct reference materials."

"We still don't know that the Baste thing has anything to do with it," Angel protested. "You said that dream catcher was made by some Native American shaman."

"First Nations," Audrey corrected. "The Dene Tha' live in Canada." 

"Maybe Oz asked him to put some sort of spell on it and either it went wrong or... something," the vampire continued in blithe denial of any wrongdoing on his part. "Just because he says it's not human magic doesn't mean he's right. Maybe he just doesn't recognise shamany magic. Some of their gods are meant to be into mischief, the crow or the raven or whatever. It could even be the jacket."

Anya sighed. "Have you never seen a cat with a ball of wool? Or better yet some tinsel. Or are you another one who uses kittens for poker chips?"

"What?" Hermione's head had come up like a shot and she was glaring at the taller vamp with suspicion and something close to hatred.

"She's joking!" Angel insisted. "I don't— I even saved a puppy once. Dived— Dove— Dived right out in front of a car to get it. Spike's the one..."

Hermione tossed her head in a gesture of disbelief and turned her attention back to the figurine. 

Giles, however, continued to give the elder vamp a look of withering disdain. "The owner of the trading post is a sorcerer. The Dene Tha' are renowned for their magical abilities and Oz and Willow are friends with both him and the shaman who made the dream catcher and we've met them both when we've visited. In my opinion, neither of them would sell anything cursed to Oz or Willow. On the other hand, you haven't provided any details as to how you came to find the statuette." 

"What difference does that make?" Angel muttered, flicking at his thigh as if to remove an invisible piece of lint.

"Oh, let me think," Spike said in a facetious tone. "You spend half your time running around hacking off demon heads and then you end up with a cursed demon artefact, and we're meant to think it's a coincidence?"

"I buy stuff there all the time. It's always been fine up to now," the taller vampire argued.

"Where?" Buffy asked impatiently.

"EBay. They deliver. You can choose practically anything you want from the comfort of your own home."

Anya rolled her eyes. "From _that specific_ vendor?" she asked.

"It's all the same, isn't it?"

"Angellll," half the people in the room seemed to sigh in exasperation.

Anya walked up to the Irish vampire and kicked him hard on the shin. "Spike, Take Mr Eighteenth Century and, if you can still get into your office, find out what you can about who he bought this from. At least Rupert _admits_ he doesn't know anything about computers and doesn't play with things he doesn't understand."

"You have a computer here?" Hermione asked, looking suddenly hopeful. "Does it have internet access?"

"That'll depend on this curse, won't it?" Spike looked back from the foot of the staircase to reply.

"You have an idea?" Severus asked. 

"Well, there has to be some sort of reference material for hieroglyphs online," Hermione suggested, "and failing that we could always use a camera phone to take pictures of the glyphs and send them to someone."

"If you can come up with someone with the eldest Weasley's proficiency with hieroglyphics who has so little magical ability that they can own a computer and keep it functioning. _Or_ you could just let me check that it is the statuette," Saturnin said. "And if it is, I _may_ be able to translate it, given some privacy."

At this Anya walked over to Saturnin and kicked him, exactly as she had kicked Angel. "You could have told us that before, Goblin Eyes."

Saturnin scowled down at her. "I only said I _may_ be able to translate it. I can offer no guarantees." 

"I don't see why you need privacy," Hermione argued. "You've used plenty of magic already. 

"Hogwarts is not the only school which guards its secrets," Saturnin replied smugly. "Or did you never wonder exactly how a polyglot faculty teaches children from so many disparate backgrounds? Maybe you thought I addressed the school by shouting and miming as if I were Dolores Umbridge speaking to Hagrid?"

"Oh sod off," Hermione told him, though her tone was far from caustic. "I know the habit's deeply ingrained, but you don't have to spend the rest of your life being a _total_ arse." Hermione knew she shouldn't have used such language in front of a potential pupil and her family, but Saturnin's shocked expression was more than worth it. "Yes, I learned to swear since I left school. I don't do it often, but I find that with some particularly stubborn characters _that_ gets through where reasoned arguments simply goad them into arguing back." She smiled sweetly. "Now take the pretty statue off to the toilets, Professor, and do... whatever _secret things_ you feel compelled to do." 

"Harridan," Severus muttered as he levitated the figure from the table.

"Grouch," Hermione retaliated.

  


* * *

  


Spike perched one butt-cheek on the banister and slid gracefully down the precipitously steep slope while Angel trudged down the stairs as if he were going to the scaffold.

"What a wanker!" Spike announced, shaking his head derisively. "He only sent his money off to someone with no user recommendations whose only address was a Post Office Box in New Jersey. And that's not even the best bits!"

Giles crossed his arms raised both eyebrows and looked at the two vampires. "Oh?" he enquired in a deceptively conversational tone.

"Tell the nice man what the user name was," Spike sing-songed with a smirk.

"Miss_Kitty69," Angel muttered under his breath.

"And what email address did she use for her PayPal account?"

"How was I supposed to know it was a fake name?" Angel demanded, searching the room for anyone who would hold his gaze without staring daggers and fixing on Buffy.

Giles uncrossed his arms and strode forward. He grabbed Angel by his jacket lapels, lifting him off the ground and slamming his back into the bar. "Answer the bloody question!" he said in a chilly tone that matched Severus Snape at his most dangerous. "You do not get to put my children in danger and then look for sympathy." 

"Selina Kyle!" Angel sputtered.

Robert rolled his eyes and muttered, "Doofus."

Anya swatted at the vampire with her hand bag and even Buffy couldn't help but smirk.

Giles kept the vampire suspended, though his face turned red and his arms trembled. "You bought my daughter's gift from Catwoman?" 

"Well, I didn't know..."

"Are you gay?" Anya asked, hitting the vampire again. "Because if you aren't you must be the only heterosexual male in the Western world who hasn't drooled over Michelle Pfeiffer in PVC at one time or another." Her voice softened and she turned to her husband. "Rupert, put him down. He's not worth a heart attack." 

"In a minute," Giles replied softly, leaning in until only an inch separated his nose and the vampire's. "Get this straight, Angel. Buffy may like you. Spike may have to put up with you, but once we get out of here, if you even so much as wave at any member of my family from the far side of the street, I will personally dust off my favourite crossbow, buy up enough 'Killer of the Dead' to wipe out the entire house of Aurelius, and come hunting for you." He loosened his grip and let Angel slump against the bar.

Anya pushed Angel aside to wrap her arms around Giles waist and draw him into a hug. "Oh, Rupert," she sighed into his chest. "I love it when you're all manly."

"Geez, Mom!" Robert complained. "You love it when he breathes. Get a grip."

Giles lifted his eyes from his wife and gave his son an affectionate smile. "We could have put you up for adoption you know," he remarked. 

"You'd miss—"

"Granger!" Saturnin bellowed as he flung open the toilet door. "What in Merlin's name have you done?"

Hermione glared defiantly at him. "Does this mean you have a translation?" 

Saturnin gave the tightest of smiles. "When the moon is full and the ib is pure, then the path to its greatest desire may be illuminated." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "Care to tell us what that might be? _Unless_ you believe that we are imprisoned here on Miss Giles' whim." 

"Well, it sure as hell lets you off the hook, Grumpypants!" Hermione retorted, leaving Saturnin momentarily struggling for words. "But I don't think anyone made it through the war unscathed." 

A newly chastened Angel leaned down to whisper to Spike, "What's the ib?"

Spike shrugged and tilted his head toward Audrey. "Ask Snacksize."

"According to the Ancient Egyptians the soul is made up of seven different parts," she explained. "Ka, or life-force, is probably the one most people have heard of, but to the Egyptians, the ib was regarded as the most important part. We'd call it the heart. At the time of death the ib would pass on to the afterlife and be examined by Anubis and the deities, or so they believed. If it was found to weigh more than the feather of Maat, then it was immediately consumed by the demon, Ammit." 

"And the fact remains that you were the first person to find they couldn't leave... Hermione." Saturnin seemed hesitant, as if he had had to consciously choose to use her given name. 

"She didn't wish," Audrey insisted. "I would have heard her. I was standing right there all the time she was touching it and she didn't wish. We were just tidying away the presents and talking."

"And what were you talking about?" Saturnin asked the girl. 

"Mr Krum a-and what he was like." As the girl stumbled over the words her gaze dropped to her feet and then met Hermione's.

Realisation hit Hermione at the same time and her eyes widened in horror. "Oh Merlin!"

 _"Ah. So you have your very own Księcia?"_ That was what Audrey had asked and Hermione remembered the thought that had run through her head. _If only._

"Look, there must be another explanation. I'm hardly some sort of saint."

"Samantha," Spike cut in. "Don't suppose you keep a cat?"

"Well, yes, I've always had a cat since I was fourteen, except for during the war. Crooks was killed in the first attack and then we had to go into hiding so it wouldn't have been fair, but—" 

"And I bet you spoil them a bit?" Spike said.

"No, not really. I mean they get fish and meat from the kitchens but it's being prepared anyway and the tinned stuff is just rancid."

Spike gave a snort of amusement. "Well, you might not be a saint, pixie, but you're a cat lover an' I'm willing to bet where that statue came from they're pretty much interchangeable." 

"So if you have any idea what might be causing this," Saturnin prompted softly, even gently, "now is not the time for prevarication." 

Hermione's cheeks flamed and she looked at her shoes. "Audrey asked if I had my own Doctor Księcia, but it's not like she really meant you. I'd said I was thinking about Viktor. Seeing you reminded me how much I miss him. That's all."

"But the actual question you were asked used my name?" Saturnin asked, slowly closing the distance between them with steady hypnotic strides that had Hermione shuffling back until her thighs hit the edge of one of the tables. "And what did you tell her?" he asked.

"Not any more."

"I told you that she didn't wish," Audrey added.

"And when she asked you, was that the first answer you thought of?"

"If only," Hermione admitted in a barely audible whisper as Saturnin brought his hand up under her chin to stop her dropping her eyes from his. "I thought, _'If only'_." 

He searched her face for a long moment, as if he were oblivious to every other person in the room watching them and holding their breath. Then, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers with a tantalising softness, his beard a gentle rasp against her skin. 

Hermione could do nothing to prevent the sigh that opened her mouth under his, and as he took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss she wrapped her arms around his neck. As she extended her tongue to brush against his tip to tip, there was a loud crack, the type of sound caused by a clumsy Apparition. 

Saturnin and Hermione jumped apart, drew wands and turned back to back. 

"Now, _that_ was real magic," Anya remarked. "You've got to respect the classics." 

By the time Saturnin and Hermione had swept the room, Audrey had made her way to the back door.

She tried the handle. It turned easily and she threw the door open.

"Thank fuck for that!" Spike spat out. He checked his watch. "Well, doesn't look like we'll be opening up again tonight." 

"Yes, well, it's well past time that Anya and I got the children home," Giles said, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders and guiding her toward the door.

"What about Audrey's statue?" Buffy asked.

"I suggest you leave it where it is until the full moon is over," Saturnin said.

"Then Angel can take it back to wherever he got it," Giles added.

Spike snorted. "Yeah, if he wants to go all the way to New Jersey and sit outside a post office for days on end."

"Tomorrow evening at seven," Hermione confirmed before the family quickly left. She turned to Spike and Buffy. "I'm sorry for all this. I hope it hasn't been too much of an inconvenience."

Spike shrugged off her apology but shot a meaningful look at his grandsire. "Just like old times. His Lordship gets us in trouble and then blames me," he answered.

She gave a tight smile. "Well, I better go."

"Wait." Again Saturnin seemed to falter as if having to make a conscious effort not to use a formal address. "Hermione. I believe we should talk."

Hermione shook her head as she scooped up her bag and made for the door. "I think you already said all there is to say." 

"Mi— Hermione!" Saturnin quickened his pace as Hermione broke into a jog, but when he reached the alley at the rear of the club it was empty. 

  


* * *

  


"Damn the bloody woman!" Saturnin lifted his head high and made his way to the taxi rank they had used earlier. It was fortunate that most of the clubs had closed some hour or more earlier because he was in no mood to deviate from his chosen path for anyone. He bore down on any fellow pedestrians, paying them as little heed as a luxury liner might give a row boat. However, when he reached the rank, the queue snaked back half the length of the street. Though he made himself walk past them on the other side of the street, scanning for the bird's nest the infuriating woman deigned to pass off as hair, he couldn't bear to join the mostly drunken throng.

Instead, he let the downward-sloping streets guide him to the water and then followed the water's edge until harbour gave way to beach. He took off his socks and shoes, tucking the former into his jeans pockets and tying the laces of his shoes together so that they could dangle easily from one hand. His steps, which began brisk enough that had he worn robes they would have given his trademark billow, soon slowed as he walked on the soft sand. He veered toward the water's edge but the tide was almost full and the only way to get a firmer footing was to roll up his trouser legs and get his feet wet.

Against his will much of his anger leeched away as he made his way up the shore. By the time the distinctive silhouette of the hotel came into view, he was left with little more than a sense of disappointment.

Then as he drew closer he spotted what looked like a moonlit mermaid perched on the sand, with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her ankles. Her wild hair rippled in the light breeze, and her full attention seemed fixed upon the silver-tipped waves. She sat on a russet blanket, and whatever she wore on her top half appeared to blend seamlessly with her skin. 

He waited until he was a scant ten yards from her before he spoke. "Hermione?"

She ducked her head and dashed at her cheeks with the back of one hand before she looked up at him.

"Hermione." This time it came out as more of a groan and he tossed his shoes carelessly toward the dryer sand and sank down to his knees beside her. "Why didn't you let me explain, you silly woman?" 

"Why couldn't you let me go?" she retaliated in the whisper of someone too tired to fight any longer.

"Is that what you _really_ want?" Saturnin asked, running fingertips down the side of her neck where it was exposed. "Or have you just told yourself that's what you want because you somehow got the mistaken impression that all I want from you is a one-night stand?"

Hermione twisted and rose into a kneeling position almost facing him, but with the outside of her right thigh resting against his. "Isn't it?" she asked.

He let his fingers slide into the soft tangles at the base of her skull and drew her close. "Do you really think that I would expect perfection from my students but set my sights so low in my private life as to flit from bed to bed?"

When he seemed to wait for a response, Hermione gave a tiny shake of her head. 

"Few indeed are the women who pique my interest, fewer still who might return my feelings. Did you really expect that I would discover myself to be the path to your heart's truest desire and then let you escape me?" He lowered his head to nibble at her right earlobe. "Never," he whispered. Then, he pressed kisses along her jaw. "Certainly not before you at least give me a chance."

"We teach half a world apart," Hermione protested feebly.

"We have long holidays and Prague is not so very far from Obzor," Saturnin countered as he began to work his way down toward Hermione's collar bone. 

"Saturnin..." Hermione sighed. "We aren't teenagers. What happens when summer's over?"

"My offer of a job at Durmstrang is still open," Saturnin offered.

"Hiring your girlfriend wouldn't help your reputation, or mine," she argued.

"Bugger my reputation," Saturnin whispered before he finally claimed her lips with his own.

Hermione hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then she allowed her passion to rise to match his until they tumbled sideways onto the sand. "My family—"

"Your family will have time to get to know me, and if you feel unable to accept my offer, then I will simply have to accept one of Minerva's many proposals," Saturnin suggested mildly.

"What? Minerva? You can't be serious. There's no position Minerva could offer you that would compare—"

"With seeing her face when Saturnin Księcia and his pupils arrive for the Triwizard tournament."

"Really? You would do that?" Hermione asked. "I thought you'd never go back to Britain."

"I thought I would never have sufficient incentive. It appears that I was wrong."

Hermione smiled and got to her feet, extending a hand to Saturnin. "Why don't we wait and see how things go over the summer?" 

Saturnin let her help him up and then picked up Hermione's blanket. "The summer is still quite a few letters away, my dear," he said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Why don't we begin with what time you want to meet for breakfast tomorrow and where you want to go for the day?" 

"Breakfast?" Hermione asked.

"You wanted to know that this isn't a one night stand," he answered. "So I'm going to walk you back to your room and kiss you goodnight. Tomorrow is another day."

"And the day after that?" Hermione asked with a teasing smile.

"The day after that I expect you to write," Saturnin said.

"Only if you write, too," Hermione insisted.

"Didn't you hear me say that I was never going to let you go?" Saturnin reached up. He let a single fingertip trace from the bridge of her dainty little nose down to its tip. "If a day goes by that I don't write, you have my word that there will be a very good reason." 

"I have your word?"

"You have my word," he answered solemnly.

"Good enough," Hermione conceded. "What if I said that where I want to spend tonight and tomorrow is in your bed?" 

Hermione was suddenly drawn into darkness, her body undergoing the familiar feelings of distortion associated with Apparition. 

Saturnin reached out one hand to switch on the bedside lamp. "Welcome to my room." 

The end. 

Author's note: According to the only phonetic Arabic online translator I could find Quadim=Ancient, Bass=Cat, Ras=Head, Nass=People, Lugha=Language. I'm sure I've put it all together in completely the wrong way, but I think it suffices for most people's purposes, though I'm sure there will be an ancient linguist or three out there cringing at the very thought. 


End file.
